


Oh, Sinnerman. (Where you gonna run to?)

by TintagelCastle



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, BAMF Charles, BAMF Erik, BAMF everyone, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Charles is a clueless little nerd, Cop AU, Erik Cannot Spit Out The 'L' Word, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Logan is Good Logan is Wise, M/M, Major Character Injury, Protective Erik, Slow Burn, get your shit together erik come on now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2281275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TintagelCastle/pseuds/TintagelCastle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik Lehnsherr is one of the best homicide detectives in New York. From small time stabbings to high end mob hits, Erik (and his equally scary partner Logan) makes sure all the bad guys get caught, searching for the final clue to nail his mother's killer. As a string of murders draws the net ever tighter on Erik's life's work, he needs to catch the nightmare of his past whilst continuing to be the darling of the Force...</p><p>And so what if he's completely in love with the British guy on Forensics? Who's he ever going to tell?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which There Is A Murder

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys :)  
> This is my first published fic on here, so please be gentle with me!!  
> (You're more than welcome to play 'Cops and Robbers' by The Hoosiers when reading this by the way)

“LEHNSHERR!!” 

Erik sighed and downed the rest of his coffee. There were times when Logan’s voice stopped being a voice and just became an assault on the senses. Ten AM was one of those times.

He waited a full five seconds before answering, ensuring the polystyrene cup was well and truly crushed in his fist before hurling it into the bin. Having spent three years with his current partner in the force meant he was attuned enough by now to know he had a further five to answer or risk the wrath of that hairy head poking around the door. Though they hadn’t gotten on particularly well at first (and – admittedly – still didn’t), a nasty altercation with Marko boy early on had done wonders for their work ethic. Logan was an asshole. Erik knew he was an asshole too. Two asshole cops weren’t a particularly popular team in the office, but it sure as hell gave the local criminals a headache. Erik liked that. Logan was a fully-fledged asshole, but at least he was an honest one. Erik could respect that.

A sentiment that went completely out the window the window the second the asshole in question did indeed poke his head around the cubicle.

“The hell you doing back here?”

“Calling the Rolling Stones, what do you think?”

A sneer curled Logan’s mouth, not an expression Erik relished. Something was clearly up; Logan had thrown his battered leather jacket over the white vest he seemed to constantly wear. How the guy didn’t freeze his nipples off in the winter Erik would never know.

“We got a call from McTaggert. Got a nice juicy fresh one in an motel.”

“Only you could call a corpse ‘nice and juicy’.” Erik observed, shrugging on his own jacket. Giving himself a pat down to ensure he had all his stuff on him he caught sight of Logan giving him a full (if somewhat twisted) grin.

“Sure am Lehnsherr. Come on, Forensics are already down there.”  
\----------------------------------------  
The thing about being a homicide detective is that, eventually, nothing can really shock you. You see all the horrific ways a human life can end and discover all the petty reasons why. Anything can set off a chain of events to murder: Money, lust, anger, envy, someone caught cheating in a relationship, someone looked at them funny, somebody stole something, and someone insulted someone else, and so on and so forth.

Sometimes it just came down to the fact that some people were just plain psychopaths.

Unfortunately, this case seemed more and more likely to be the latter.

It was ten-thirty AM on a Thursday morning in downtown New York city and Erik Lehnsherr was making his way to the police tape barring civilian entrance to a motel room.

“What, did you guys hit traffic on your way down here?” called Moira McTaggert by way of greeting. Erik gave her a tight smile but declined to actually talk to her as he shouldered his way past to leave Logan to deal with her. It wasn’t as if he hated McTaggert – she was a damn good cop – but sometimes she could be just as caustic and single-minded with the job as he was. 

They’re still working in there!” she called after him over her shoulder.

Erik ignored her and carried on his way to the motel room. God, it was a fucking mess. Blood spatters decorated the walls and floor, which set off the broken bottles and cocaine powder quite nicely. Furniture was upturned and the bed was practically tipped over. Sprawled over the rumpled sheets was the corpse of a young girl, dark hair thrown over her face like a veil.

Erik was about to step around a broken bottle when a familiar English lilt reached his ears;

“Careful where you step, Detective. The whole place is a trip hazard.”

He knew he should remain aloof and professional, he really did. Aloof was practically his middle name (Ok, it was Magnus, but who cares?). He smiled, properly.

“They dragged you down here too Charles?”

Charles Xavier had only been working with the force on Forensics for about two years. Charles was, well, Charles was a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in tweed. He was pretty sure that if you took the tweed off there would be a second identical layer of tweed beneath it….not that he spent much time thinking about taking Charles’ shirt off. At all.

When they had first met whilst working on a case together it had taken Erik all of twenty seconds to decide he didn’t dislike the guy. It had taken just twenty minutes to realise that beneath all the bumbling and the English sensibilities lay a keen wit and almost frightening intelligence. It had taken two days to realise that Charles Xavier was not altogether unattractive (i.e. ridiculously attractive). It had taken a further two weeks to cement Charles in his life as a friend and it had taken two more months, after-work drinks, one incredibly disgusting Indian takeout and amber lamplight catching Charles’ laughing profile for Erik to realise he was completely, hopelessly, in love. 

Which was a bit of a stretch on the ‘professional’ front, all things considered.

“Well it was either this or Stargate re-runs.” Charles grinned back cheerfully, straightening from where he was crouched with a blacklight by the bed. Forensics scrubs were not a particularly good look on Charles’ slight build, the blue material bunched around the ankles with the hood pulled tight over that chestnut mop of hair. Erik wrenched his thoughts away from that dangerous thought path and focused on the scene before him.

“What have we got?”

“Young Caucasian female, I’d guess early twenties. Main cause of death appears to be a blow to the head but we’ll know more once we get this poor girl to autopsy.” Charles reported smoothly, Erik didn’t miss the heaviness of the phrase ‘poor girl’. That was another thing about Charles; with Logan it was always ‘corpse’ or ‘stiff’ or ‘meatpile’, but with Charles it was always ‘poor girl’ this and ‘unfortunate boy’ that. Charles didn’t just solve murder for murder’s sake, Charles cared. Erik dreaded the day their hard line of work chipped away at that empathy. 

Hank McCoy, a young bespectacled lad came out of the room’s bathroom, clicking off his own handheld torch.

“Can’t find anything in the bathroom, so I don’t think anything took place here….oh! H-Hello Detective Lehnsherr."

“Good Morning Hank.” Erik replied, putting on what Logan liked to call his _"I could kill you with one hand behind my back right this second if I thought you were worth my time"_ voice. The poor boy flinched a little and studied his feet, earning Erik an irritated glance from Charles. Erik smiled thinly, it wasn’t his fault the boy was terrified of everything – he worked with the police for pity’s sake – he had to grow a backbone at some point. It also probably didn’t help that Erik had a bit of a reputation for being a no-nonsense tough guy (his words), and a crazy fucking badass (not his words). That crazy bit, Erik felt, was always a bit undeserved. It had been completely the other guy’s fault.

While Hank was blustering for a response, Logan stomped his way into the room, giving Charles a curt nod as he did do.

“Hey there Shorty.”

If Charles had ever felt offended by Logan constantly mocking his small size, he’d long since given up expressing it. Instead, he stood up on tiptoes and made an over the top show of trying to look up at the burly detective. 

“How’s the air up there?”

“Yeah yeah.” Logan retorted, waving a hand. “What have we got here?”

Hank shuffled over to Logan to give him the rundown of the situation. Erik sidestepped them and padded over to Charles’ side, mindful of the chaos around them. When he was near enough Charles gave him a friendly smile that did not in any way cause Erik’s lower intestine to try and strangle itself. Not at all. 

Erik cleared his throat. Opened his mouth, and felt the plummeting weight of _nothing to say_ in his stomach. Charles kept looking at him, no doubt patiently waiting for Erik to say whatever he was clearly not going to say now. Many options of course: _Hey Charles you look nice today. Hey Charles what are your thoughts on the new Batman film? Hey Charles I’m really into you and I think I’d like to buy you dinner sometime if you’re okay with that?_

Perhaps not the best question to ask with a dead body in front of them. Maybe later. 

Of course opening his mouth meant he only had mere moments to come up with something that didn’t sound completely out of the ordinary. He raised his eyes to Charles’ face again, which now had a little frown of impatience on it. Fortunately Erik’s brain finally decided to join the party and snapped his gaze back to the case at hand. 

“So, nothing leaping out at you here?”

“Nothing earth-shattering I’m afraid.” Charles sighed, a small grimace pulling his mouth up at one corner. “Nothing concrete that I can see without further examination at least. We need to get her to the morgue, get someone to identify her.”

“Of course.” Erik replied, turning back to the case at hand.  
\----------------------------  
Erik had only been thirteen years old when his parents were murdered.  
\---------------------------  
 _He had run from school, yet again upset and angry at the rest of the children. Nobody wanted to talk to a hard faced German boy who still struggled with the English language. It wasn’t fair; it hadn’t been his idea to come to this stupid country, and he’d told his parents as such. Mama had just given him a patient smile and told him to give it time. Papa had found work in a local jewellers, and had joked that if Erik didn’t stop complaining, he’d make him a pretty little tiara to wear. Erik would sulk until Mama put dinner on the table, impressing everyone for her ability to create delicious meals with even their meagre income._

_Erik came to a stop near Papa’s shop, out of breath. Police cars had gathered round and there was broken glass all over the pavement. Erik’s stomach dropped as he ran forward._

_“Papa? PAPA?!”_

_For a split second, Erik’s world crashed to a stop with panic. A policeman stepped forward, his face grave as he looked at Erik. Erik took a few steps back._

_“Wo ist mein Vater?”_

_“Erik!”_

_Erik spun round, relief flooding through him as he saw his father push past a small group of police officers and enveloped his son in a hug._

_“What happened?”_

_“Just a robbery my boy, it’s nothing. I got a good look at the man who did it.”_

_“Are you alright?”_

_“Perfectly fine Erik. I was in the back office when I heard the shouts. Herr Fitchett is fine too. It’s alright Erik I promise. I’m sorry for frightening you.”_

_“Wasn’t scared-“ Erik snuffled into his father’s jacket, ignoring the low chuckle rumbling through Papa’s chest. His father let go and gripped him by the shoulders with a small smile._

_“Get on home, before your mother burns dinner with worry.”_  
\---------------------------  
Erik shifted on the couch as the television droned on. It had been weeks since the young girl had been found in the motel room and the case had been neatly wrapped up and closed. It had been a crime of passion according to the courts. Boy loves Girl. Boy and Girl have affair. Boy kills Girl in a jealous, drug-fuelled rage over some stupid-ass misunderstanding. He hadn’t been expecting a link, nor had he found one. He had suspected that perhaps the victim had seen something, perhaps she had found someone she shouldn’t have, and been killed for it. But she hadn’t. 

“You’re getting paranoid Lehnsherr.” He muttered to himself, bringing a beer bottle to his lips as he half-focused on the television in front of him. “He wasn’t involved.”  
\--------------------------  
 _The door burst open. Erik could hear his father shouting downstairs as he scrambled out of bed. Something was wrong._

_Sleep had made him off-balance as he staggered to his bedroom door, missing it when he first reached for it. He shook his head to clear it, ice sliding into his veins when he heard his father’s words:_

_“Edie! Hol Erik! Raus hier!”_

_Erik wrenched the door open and practically ran headfirst into his mother. She was in her faded nightgown, her feet bare as she looked at him with wild, frightened eyes. For a moment they stared at each other until the sound of glass shattering snapped them from their trance. Mama grabbed his hand and dragged him across the landing to his parent’s bedroom. She was planning to go through the window leading to a communal parking lot, Erik knew. It had been their fire escape plan when they first moved into the tiny space._

_“Mama!” Erik yelped, “Was ist los- What’s going on?!”_

_“Sssh Erik!” She hissed back as they ran into his parent’s room._

_A loud gunshot rang throughout the dark. Edie slammed her hands over her mouth as a strangled sound escaped her. Erik felt numb. His father didn’t own a gun, but clearly the intruder did._

_“P-Papa?”_

_There were no sounds for a long while except for their combined ragged breathing. Erik felt torn between launching himself out the room to find his father and curling up into a ball, never to get up again. It may have been seconds or it may have been hours before his mother stirred and grabbed his wrist again. For a moment Erik didn’t understand until he heard strange footsteps thundering up the stairs._

_“Oh Gott,” his mother breathed, before ripping open the door to her wardrobe. Without a word she shoved Erik into it, frantically moving various dresses and coats around him. “Get in Liebling.”_

_“Mama?”_

_“Quiet, be quiet.”_

_Edie shut the door on Erik, but in the dim light of the room he could see a sliver of her face as she backed away unsteadily._

_“Mama…?”_

_“Not a word. It’s ok Erik, be safe. Please Erik stay here!”_

_The footsteps were louder, coming towards the room. Erik couldn’t breathe. A shiver ran through his body, betraying his terror._

_“Alles ist gut mein Sohn,” Edie whispered to the wardrobe, glancing towards the door. “A-Alles ist gut-“_

_The door burst open. Edie Lehnsherr never had a chance._

_The sound of the bullet being fired was the loudest sound Erik had ever heard. He watched in paralyzed horror as a dark stain spread across his mother’s thin chest and her knees buckled under her weight. Mama fell into a heap on the floor, the strange intruder merely a shadow in the doorway, holding the gun aloft._

_For a long, horrible minute the stranger stood there, and then reached to switch the light on. Erik flinched at the light suddenly blinding him through the little crack in the door. Squinting, he dared look again. The stranger was staring at Edie’s body with such disinterest it made Erik’s blood boil. How dare he? How DARE he be unaffected?! He could not just murder Erik’s parents in cold blood and act as if it was nothing of interest. As Erik stared through the small opening, taking in the murderer’s cold hazel eyes and dark blond hair. He committed the face to his memory, tucking in the hate and the fear around it._

_He would kill this man._

_His heartbeat thundered in his ears as the stranger half turned, giving Edie’s body one last glance. Erik’s nostrils caught the metallic stench of congealing blood and it hit him. They were dead. His parents were dead. Papa’s hugs and Mama’s smiles, all just gone. Somebody had broken into their home and killed them. Why?_

_A quiet strangled whimper wrenched itself from his throat. Erik felt himself jerk backwards as he tried to smother it with his wrist. Something shifted in the stranger and Erik felt insurmountable terror fill his stomach and flood to his extremities like water overflowing a bowl. He tried to remain as silent as possible, not to even breathe._

_The stranger tilted his head, no doubt trying to locate the source of the noise. He took a step forward, then two._

_Erik’s heart stopped._

_“We have to go!”_

_The shout made Erik jump. The voice had carried from downstairs, echoing strangely in the post-murder tranquillity. His mother’s killer threw a glance over his own shoulder, but made no move. The second voice shouted again, syllables heavy with a Russian accent:_

_“SCHMIDT! Police are being called. We have to go! NOW!”_

_This time the killer – Schmidt – looked back to the wardrobe for a split second, but turned on his heel and took off back down the stairs._

_It wasn’t until Erik heard the screech of car tyres in the distance that he half fell out of the wardrobe. Landing on his knees he scrambled to reach his mother, breath coming in broken whimpers. Mama didn’t stir, even when he begged, when he cried, when he pounded desperate fists into her shoulder, not even when he started to scream._  


_He was still screaming when the police came to drag him away._  
\-----------------------------  
That had been twenty three years ago. No matter how many times Erik had told the authorities what he saw, how many suspects they’d shown him; in the end it was never the same man that murdered his parents. So he threw himself into his studies, with the almost obsessive desire to join the police force. No matter how long it took, he convinced himself that one day the spirits of his parents could be avenged and finally be at peace.

One day.

For now, he had a good position as a homicide detective. The money wasn’t bad, even if the hours were quite long and unsociable. His apartment suited his purposes admirably, small and rather under furnished (if the endless cycle dying houseplants counted as furniture). He could count the number of true friends he had on one hand, not using many fingers either, but he liked it that way. Sometimes he wondered how his life would have ended up if that night had never happened. Perhaps he would have followed his father’s footsteps and become a jeweller, never seeing the horror and bloodshed of working in New York’s homicide department. He would have grown up and had a nice and average education that ended with a nice and average life, perhaps he would have met and married a nice and average girl.

But he would never have met Charles.

Erik didn't consider this an altogether bad thing.


	2. In Which Erik Asks A Lot Of Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the love guys!!! I may not be able to reply to every comment but seriously, all the fuzzy feelings!! *_*
> 
> This chapter is rather dialogue heavy I'm afraid.

_Three weeks later._  
The alarm clock burst into life, some tinny pop tune rousing Erik from sleep. Groaning, he rolled over and, after blindly slamming his hand in thin air for a few seconds, switched the noise off.

For a few seconds he debated whether or not to actually move, but though his bed was comfortable, years of waking up at the crack of dawn was a difficult habit to break, even if he was technically off the clock today. Erik was never sure what to do on free days, but, seeing as his body clock had all but forbidden him from sleeping in past seven AM, eventually decided to get up with an internal _fuck it._

He went for a run. Early mornings were always a good time to do so with the pale sunlight just beginning to bring colour to the dark and still buildings and parks. Winter was rolling in, the air in his lungs crisp and fresh. He ran until he’d completed one big circle around several blocks, then came back into his little apartment to shower and finally decide upon breakfast.

He was halfway through frying some eggs when the phone rang:

“Hello?”

“Lehnsherr, you gotta come in.”

Erik clenched his teeth with irritation. “For God’s sake Logan I’m off the clock! What do you want?”

“Salvadore and Cassidy brought in a body from last night.”

“So? What the fuck are you calling _me_ for? Let them handle it.”

A snort echoed from the other end of the line. “I wouldn’t trust them to handle a fucking grocery run. Let alone this.”

“If you’re dragging my ass into work on my day off it’d had better be the goddamn Pope on the slab…”

Logan chuckled darkly as Erik gave his soon to be abandoned eggs a woeful glance.

“Not quite the Pope. But trust me bub, you’re gonna wanna take a look.”  
………………………………………………………..

Erik leant against the wall, throwing a glare at Logan every so often to check his partner knew the depths of his annoyance. Not that the moron took much notice, coming in from yet another smoke break. It clung to his vest and hair. Erik folded his arms:

“You said this was important.”

“Yeah and I also said it wasn’t quite the Pope, keep your panties on.”

They walked into the pathology lab, where a lumpy white sheet decorated a gurney. Thankfully the corpse was – apparently – fresh, so there was no underlying smell to wrestle with the already overpowering aroma of disinfectant. 

The resident pathologist, Jean Grey, came forward with her clipboard in hand, pale and elfin featured with her pretty red hair tied neatly behind her in a high ponytail. She gave them a polite, if questioning smile.

“You’re not the same guys that brought the body in.”

“I talked to Hendry, we’re on the case now.” Logan supplied.

This was news to Erik. If Hendry was interested in this case, this was a pretty serious case. These days the Commissioner never usually bothered to get directly involved, Hendry, like Logan, clearly didn’t trust the younger detectives to get the job done.

Neither Logan nor Jean took notice of Erik’s surprise. She merely nodded her acknowledgement that they were now involved and pulled back the sheet so they could clearly see the victim’s face.

The man was young, Erik would guess mid-twenties. A thatch of light brown hair lay dishevelled on top of his head. In death his skin had taken on a pale bluish hue though there were dark circles around his sunken eyes. A slight bruise adorned his cheek and around the side of his mouth, his lip split with dried blood crusting on the skin. The harder he looked, the more he realised, with a sickening feeling, that the boy seemed somewhat familiar.

“Is that-?”

“Jason Stryker.” Logan said heavily, his eyes grave. 

“As in Judge Stryker’s _son?”_

“Got it in one pal.” 

“Shit……How did he die?” 

“That’s the thing, it’s hard to say.” Jean cut in, pulling the sheet farther down to expose an ugly slash across young Stryker’s chest, black and flaking with blood that also left rust-brown smears over his collarbones. The wound ran from just under the boy’s right pectoral muscle to just above the left clavicle, a diagonal swipe. 

Hard to say?” Erik repeated disbelievingly, eyebrows begin their ascent to his hairline. 

“Mmm, see, Xavier and I agree that the cause of death was blood loss. But, you might not be able to see it clear enough from your angle Detective Lehnsherr, the wound is not actually deep enough for that.” 

“You sure? It’s pretty damn fatal looking to me.” 

“That’s what we thought. A wound of this size and depth would hurt like hell and would most certainly leave a disfiguring scar, but with the correct first aid in time, he could have survived. In any case, Xavier’s down in the Forensic lab running bloodwork in case we missed something.” 

“Well there’s your answer.” Erik countered, nodding at the body. “Perhaps the attacker had made him unable to staunch the bleeding. It’s perfectly plausible to assume, were his hands tied or otherwise restrained, he could have bled out.” 

“There’s no bruising on the wrists.” Jean replied, holding Stryker’s limp arm aloft to support her statement. “And Xavier said Cassidy had found the body untied in the living room.” 

“Could have been knocked out?” Logan offered. 

“There’s no evidence to suggest that. No wounds on the head or any drugs in his system that we could find with initial toxin screenings, though it’s plausible Xavier may find something…… look,” Jean then turned over the dead hand. Erik saw similar rust covered blood stains on the boy’s fingers and palm. “The blood matches, he at least tried to stop himself bleeding.” 

“Maybe this was just some stupid accident?” Logan offered again. Erik rolled his eyes and waggled his fingers at the bruise on the boy’s face. 

“Sure, he accidentally punched himself in the face and then accidentally slashed his chest open.” 

Logan sneered in reply. Erik shot a _‘Ask a stupid question’_ face back. 

“Did Cassidy mention any witnesses?" 

Logan shrugged. “Not a witness per-say, but the body was found by his father’s secretary, a Miss Emma Frost.” 

The name rang a bell in the back of Erik’s mind, though he couldn’t place a face to the name. It wasn’t as if William Stryker made his family and connections known to all and sundry, after all. He knew Jason by sight, having seen the boy eagerly attending some of his father’s more high-profile cases, apparently harbouring a desire to follow in William’s footsteps. Erik had never spoken to the boy, but he had seemed decent enough. 

And now the poor bastard was dead, with only his father’s secretary as a lead. 

“I’ll go talk to her.” He volunteered, making a mental note to look up the address. Turning back to Jean he asked, “Did you say Charles is in the lab?” 

She shot him a little smile, laced with warm fondness. “Isn’t he always?" 

..……………………….. 

Erik knocked on the door to the lab to alert Charles to his presence before pushing his way in. 

“Tea?” 

He held the offering up as Charles looked up at him from an assortment of pipettes and beakers. A wide sunny grin spread across Charles’ face as he straightened. 

“How kind of you Erik, thank you!” He took the paper cup from him and bent his head a little to smell the steam wafting up. “Earl Grey?” 

“Yeah,” _Just the way you like it._ “No lemon I’m afraid.” 

“I suppose I’ll forgive you, just this once.” 

Erik allowed himself a small smile. Before either of them could comment further, Charles suddenly heaved a massive yawn, endeavouring to cover it with his free hand. Erik quirked an eyebrow. 

“Late night?” 

Charles nodded apologetically “I have seen the tenth circle of Hell, and it is a downtown New York karaoke bar.” 

Erik paused, confused, then let out an incredulous laugh. “What were _you_ doing in a karaoke bar?!” 

“I wasn’t there by choice!” Charles protested, looking thoroughly offended. “My bloody sister dragged me off with her friends. I fear they planned to cure me of my _fuddy duddy Englishness_ or something equally ridiculous. Nevertheless, if I never again have to hear _Wind Beneath My Wings_ it’ll be far too soon.” 

Erik couldn’t help it, the image of Charles surrounded by tipsy girls raucously singing, with a petrified expression on his face was too much for him to take. He sniggered. 

“You wild child.” 

“Oh hush.” Charles sidestepped him back to his workspace, held up a test tube full of dark liquid up to the light and squinted at it, then put it down again. Erik narrowed his eyes at it. 

“Jason Stryker’s blood?” 

“What? Oh! Yes, sorry. Yes it is, are you working on that case?” 

“Just been to see Jean. I’ll let you know if anything major comes up.” 

Charles hummed in reply, clearly only half-listening. Erik glanced around the lab, at the various bottles and boxes and wondered just how much of a genius Charles was to understand what the fuck everything was and what it did. Careful not to touch anything, Erik stood for a while watching Charles work (in a totally professional and non-stalkerish capacity of course). Once more, Erik frowned at how harsh the bright lights of the laboratory were on Charles’ skin. He studied that slightly hooked nose and soft mouth out of the corner of his eye, seeing how bright and alert those blue eyes were in concentration. Charles’ dark hair was brushed neatly away from his forehead but was beginning to curl slightly in its length. Erik had had many _many_ daydreams over the past two years involving his fingers and that hair. 

“I’ve heard Moira’s planning a Christmas party for the whole department this year.” Charles said suddenly, startling Erik out of his trance. Erik blinked a few times. 

“Beg pardon?” 

Charles smirked at him. “Office Christmas party. You know where everyone gets shoved into festive hell and pretend they’re having a good time?” 

Christmas. Right. Yes. Erik vaguely recalled getting bullied into attending by Salvadore a few years back (she had completely missed the repeated ‘I am _JEWISH,_ Angel!’ protestations). He had spent the entire time drinking alone in a corner steadfastly ignoring all the songs and tinsel. He had given up and gone home the second a tipsy Cassidy had placed a bright pink paper crown on his head. 

“What about it?” 

“Oh! I forgot, sorry. You don’t really celebrate Christmas do you?” 

Erik shrugged. “Not really, but then again, I’m hardly a good practicing Jew anymore…..it serves as a good excuse to get out of office parties though.” 

Charles laughed, a full, deep bellied laugh that made Erik’s chest feel about five degrees warmer. 

....……………………. 

Emma Frost was certainly an imposing woman. Sinking into a chair opposite him wearing an almost blindingly white pantsuit with perfectly curled blonde hair tossed artfully down her back. She fixed Erik a cool stare befitting her namesake, entwining long fingers with meticulously manicured nails over one knee as she studied him. 

“Detective Lehnsherr I believe?” 

Erik inclined his head. 

“This is about Jason Stryker.” 

It was not a question. Erik nodded again, jotting down the details of the meeting in his notepad. “Yes, I’m led to believe you found the body?” 

“It was dreadful! Blood everywhere.” She cried, turning her head away and bringing a delicate hand to her mouth. Erik fought the urge to roll his eyes; he’d been doing this job long enough to know the difference between real distress and distress put on for a show. Not a very convincing show at that. 

“When did you discover Mr Stryker’s body?” 

“Last night, just after eleven…I’d come back from the office to drop some files off for Judge Stryker. The door was unlocked.” 

“Unlocked?” 

“Yes, I assumed it was because the judge was expecting me.” 

“Where was he?” 

“I don’t know.” She snapped, giving him a stroppy glare. Erik heard a Southern accent slip through the crack in her professional façade. “You’ll have to ask him. All I know that I came here to deliver something and found his son covered in blood on the floor!” 

“Okay, okay. I understand you’re upset….” Erik cut in, scribbling her answers in shorthand. “But it’s just routine Ma’am. Do you know where Judge Stryker is now?” 

Frost seemed to take a few moments to compose herself, when she spoke again, the accent was gone. “Well, the family are going through a very difficult time right now. I’d say he’s with his wife, as he should be.” 

This wasn’t particularly helpful, Erik noted sourly. Such vague answers were typical of someone who knew more than they were letting on. He couldn’t push it this early on though, not before more evidence and statements came to light. He looked back over his shorthand and then back up at Frost. 

“You mentioned files? What were they about?” 

She tipped her head to one side, a sly smile playing about her lips. “I’m so sorry Detective but I cannot possibly tell you. It’s confidential.” 

“I’m sure.” Erik spat back, not bothering to hide his frustration. “Thank you for everything, Miss Frost.” 

“Anytime, Detective Lehnsherr.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoy writing dickish Logan, it's a weakness.


	3. In Which Erik Has A Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry about the long wait! Things have been kinda hectic lately, but thanks so much for sticking around :D
> 
> UPDATE: I fixed my formatting errors. This work is unbeta'd, so any mistakes you eagle eyed readers make is literally down to my own monumental stupidity.

Erik had barely got to his car before Logan called.

 _“Haemophilia”_ came a grunt from the other end.

“Come again?”

“Xavier came back with the blood work. Jason Stryker was a haemophiliac…..”

Erik paused where he stood. “What?!”

“It means your blood don’t clot fast enough-“

“I _know_ what it means Logan! I meant ‘what’ as in ‘why didn’t we know’?”

There was a moment of silence where Erik could practically hear Logan’s somewhat unique combination of an annoyed eye roll and one-shouldered half shrug. “Well, the Stryker’s ain’t exactly a talkative bunch are they? It’s not as if they just make medical records public to everyone.”

“Still…” Erik pressed on grimly, rubbing a hand over his face. Today was turning into a real clusterfuck. “I mean, shit, no wonder the boy bled out.”

“Good work Sherlock. Did you get anything outta Frost?”

“She turned up to give the judge some files at eleven and found Jason on the floor. That’s about it, I got the feeling she’d sue me for harassment if I asked much more.”

Erik wrested his car door open as Logan made a darkly amused sound. Getting into his seat he peered back as Emma Frost exited the building, white-framed sunglasses hiding half her face. She was very beautiful, Erik noted, in an unobtainable Hollywood starlet kind of way. As she walked away with her head held high he vaguely remembered Logan was, regrettably, still talking.

“Sorry, what?”

“I _said_ ‘what kind of files?’”

“Don’t know,” Erik admitted grudgingly, exhaling sharply through his nose. “She wouldn’t tell me. Apparently it’s super confidential.”

“Sure…wanna bet those files contain something _super_ juicy?”

Erik sat up a little straighter in his seat, he _had_ considered that, and he’d be flat out lying if he said he didn’t want to at least try to get his hands on them. Of course, it was entirely plausible that those files contained nothing of real importance connecting to the death of the Stryker boy. Still, there was no harm in trying was there?

“You know what Logan? I think I’d like to find out.”

…………………………………………………………

Convincing William Stryker to shed light on the situation, as it turned out, was a complete disaster.

“My son is _DEAD,_ and you’re worried about some files?!” The man spat, growing ever more steadily red in the face. “The bastard that killed my son is still out there!”

“Sir, we believe it may have some connection to your son’s case-” Logan began, in a tone of voice more earnest that Erik had ever heard from the gruff Canadian’s mouth. It was a little unsettling really.

“The hell it does!”

“Sir,” Erik cut in before Stryker flew into an apoplectic fit entirely. “Please, we understand this is a tough time for you, but we have to be thorough. Do you understand?” 

Whatever Judge Stryker was going to say sputtered away into silence. The three of them stood in an awkward huddle in Stryker’s overly spacious kitchen. The judge fingers balled into a tight fist on the granite worktop. Erik was given to understand the man had quite the presence in the army back in the day, but now muscle had relaxed into a middle aged paunch and once black hair was now fading into various shades of grey. He fixed both detectives with a glare that managed to be both incredulous and steely at the same time.

“Just doing our job, Sir.” Logan added, as if this cleared everything up.

Stryker heaved a great sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking long deep breaths in an evident attempt to calm himself down. Erik couldn’t say he really blamed the man, he knew that, were their situations reversed, Erik wouldn’t want a pair of particularly nosy detectives invading his grief. 

Erik had had quite enough loved ones murdered in his lifetime thank you very much.

The judge turned back to them, eyes bright with unshed tears. Erik could see bags under the man’s eyes, evidence of lack of sleep. If Erik were a more sympathetic cut of man, he would pity the harsh lines of stress and fatigue on the judge’s face. But sympathy wouldn’t bring Jason Stryker back. Pity couldn’t bring back the dead, no matter where it came from. 

“Mr Stryker,” he began again, his voice as gentle as he could possibly make it. “Please, if you can think of anything useful in Jason’s case, anything at all, it would be a really good idea to tell us.”

Stryker said nothing, but continued to gaze at Erik with the same searing intensity. For a second Erik feared the man would refuse them outright, but, after a few moments, Erik saw Stryker’s shoulders slump.

“The files contain information regarding another case.”

“Which was-?” Logan asked almost immediately. 

“I-No! That had _nothing_ to do with Jason!” Stryker hissed, flecks of spittle flying from his lips. “I shouldn’t even discuss this you! Why don’t you just get out there and DO YOUR DAMN JOBS?!”

“Sir-“ Erik began, just as Logan cut in with “Calm down bub-”

“NO!!” the judge roared, slamming his hand onto the worktop with such force Erik vaguely wondered if he had broken several fingers doing so. The noise reverberated around the space. “No you don’t just come in my house asking me about some fucking _files_ when Jason- my _boy_ was cut down like…like….God I wasn’t even here to help him!" 

It was always incredibly uncomfortable to watch something within a grieving person break, and William Stryker was no exception. His body sagged and his breath came out in one agonised sigh. Erik’s shared a highly uncomfortable glance with Logan, who seemed to want nothing more than to leave. 

“W-William? Is everything alright?” came a timid voice from the doorway. Both detectives span around to see Stryker’s wife – an unfortunate woman who seemed to still think anaemia was fashionable – hovering beside the door, her thin face pinched with worry. 

“It’s fine.” Stryker said, probably a lot more snappish than Erik suspected him to intend. “These gentlemen were just leaving.” 

Logan shot a warning look at Erik, who in turn looked to the judge. “Mr Stryker, we’re just-” 

Stryker whirled on them then, eyes almost wild. Erik suddenly had a glimpse of a core of steel beneath the grief. Logan made a movement beside him, clearly ready to intervene should Stryker actually go for physically throwing them out. A small strangled noise came from Stryker’s wife as her husband drew himself up to his full height, face set with a dangerous hardness. 

“I suggest you leave detectives.” He said coldly, “Before I decide to make life _very_ difficult for you. Damn the files. I recommend you have a good, long think about catching my son’s killer before you try harassing me again.” 

…………………………………………… 

“Bastard” Logan seethed over yet another cup of coffee. Erik rolled his eyes. 

“I know you might find this very hard to believe, but I heard you the first thirty times.” 

Whatever Logan muttered in response was ignored as Erik turned back to the wall behind his desk that now had an array of photographs and notes pinned to it. In the middle of it was an autopsy photo of Jason Stryker, whilst various statements and scraps of information encircled it. He always did this with his more pressing cases; the other detectives in the precinct had dubbed it ‘Lehnsherr’s Wall of Crazy’, though one creative intern came up with ‘The Slaughter Board.’ 

“No I mean it, utter asswipe.” Logan ranted on, waving one hand around as if batting away invisible midges. “Just doing our fuckin’ jobs and he goes and accuses us of harassment! Fuckin’ harassment! He can keep his damn files for all I care-” 

“Logan?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you actually going to help me out here? Or do you plan on bitching yourself into a coma?” 

He turned his back on Logan slamming down the coffee and undoubtedly making a rude hand signal at him, instead peering at the various things he’d already collected. 

“Jason Stryker, son of Judge William Stryker,” he murmured to himself, drumming the fingers of one hand against his folded arms. “Slashed by some sort of bladed weapon, and bled to death.” 

“Woooow, you should be a detective.” Logan drawled from somewhere by his shoulder. 

“Shut up. Now, perhaps someone was aiming for the Judge, but, with him not being home, got the son instead.” 

“Why? The kid did nothing wrong.” 

“Witness perhaps? Wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened.” Erik knew that last bit came out sounding bitter, but he doubted his partner caught it. “Are you _sure_ Forensics didn’t get anything we could use?” 

Logan shrugged one burly shoulder. “Shorty would’ve caught it if there were. Kid doesn’t miss much.” 

“ _Charles_ is hardly a kid Logan. But I guess you’re right.” 

“Always am bub.” Logan smirked, sauntering back over to his own cubicle. “Stryker’s still an asshole though!” 

Erik rolled his eyes and turned back to his board, suddenly feeling very tired. He had statements, photographs, details of the wound, practically everything. If they’d only found a shred of evidence – a hair, a scrap of skin or _something_ \- then it would be easier to catch the culprit. But Charles and his team were nothing but the best at their jobs, and if they hadn’t found anything, he doubted either he or Logan to do it better. He wouldn’t give up though, not with Hendry on their asses to get this wrapped up. If the killer of Jason Stryker wasn’t caught, things could get very difficult very quickly. 

He rubbed a hand over his face and went back to studying the photographs. 

………………………………………… 

The problem with being in love with someone you could never have, Erik discovered, was that you had to be so damned _indifferent_ all the time. Over the years working in the precinct and all the time before finding a way into the force, Erik had forged himself a skin of iron and a cold stare to match. What good was a cop that became an emotional mess at every heart-wrenching case? It was easier to beat down whatever was going on inside, easier to focus on whatever horror was in front of you, than to lose concentration out of sympathy. Of course, when someone waltzed into your life and was determined to see hope and goodness in everything it just made it harder to pretend to be as cold as you seem. 

He tried to hate Charles. God did he try. He’d once spent an entire week solely concentrating on Charles’ flaws to determine that Charles was just an asshole and nothing really special. Charles was naïve, foolish, even arrogant at times. He also had a bad habit of forgetting that just because he had a PhD in geneticalmutantbiosomethingorother didn’t mean that _everyone_ did. Yeah, Charles was smart….and kind. And unfailingly cheerful….Okay, Erik’s attempt at dislike hadn’t lasted very long. Charles was flawed, but Erik had pretty much flung his hands up in despair and admitted that Charles Xavier was more than a pretty pair of blue eyes and an actual human being. An actual human being with actual emotions that Erik had actually been stupid enough to go and fall for. 

Admitting to himself that he’d fallen in love with Charles was one thing, coming to terms with the fact he would never have Charles was also one thing, acting as if they were merely friends and colleagues was another thing altogether. It wasn’t as if he was some giggly teenager that blushed whenever Charles came near, far from it, he was the fucking _king_ of stoicism. But it was getting more and more difficult to keep his glances from becoming a little too frequent, or his smiles from becoming a little too warm. After all, Charles was straight; or, at least, mostly straight. Erik knew that Charles was also the flirtiest man this side of the Atlantic. Most women were charmed by Charles’ wit and candour, as well as a few men, as Erik had seen first-hand. Charles always had a cheeky smile for any pretty woman that came his way, and Erik knew pretty women is what Charles wanted. 

It wasn’t just that Charles was straight; Charles was also _good._ Between Erik’s late-night fantasies (most of which ended up racking his dry cleaning bill sky high) and carefully veiled friendly conversations he’d imagined what life with Charles would be like. He thought about how lazy Sunday mornings would play out, how grocery shopping would go, and the like. It had been a particularly devastating day when Erik had come to the realisation that it wasn’t enough to imagine simply having Charles in his bed, he wanted him in his _life._ But, with a reputation for being a stone cold hardass as he had, he knew someone as soft and nice as Charles would never be happy with him. He joined the force to find the man who’d murdered his parents, sifting through case after case to find clues and links. He didn’t care if he died in the attempt, or lost his job, he would kill his mother’s murderer and consequences be damned. If Charles were ever with him, he’d be dragged down into Erik’s pain and obsessive hunt. He would see the cracks in Erik and Erik didn’t think either of them had the courage to try and fix them. 

So, he hid his feelings. What good would they do? 


	4. In Which Food Is Consumed And A Neck Is Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry this took so long guys! This time of year right until Christmas is where work starts getting pretty heavy for me so I will apologise for the gaps between updates. I hope you all forgive me! x
> 
> VERY LATE DISCLAIMER: My only knowledge of how cop procedures work comes from NCIS and CSI. Please take anything I say with a pinch of salt.

Fuck this case.

Erik had been staring at his godforsaken board for the better part of two days while he made Logan go collect more statements, adding to the cluttered pile he already had. Now he sat perched on his desk, the only person left in the office, the bin next to him slowly filling up with discarded plastic coffee cups. The clock dragged on as he went over what little evidence they had in the vain hope that some miracle clue was going to jump out at him (despite Logan’s complaints that they should just give up for today). Hendry and Stryker were breathing down their necks but it was like the killer was a ghost. Nobody saw anyone go in or out of the Stryker residence that night and it was highly doubtful Jason did it to himself. How the fuck was he supposed to catch a killer that seemingly fucking teleported out of there?

“Christ Erik! Are you _still_ here?!”

Erik turned to see Charles emerging from the doors to the labs, shrugging on his coat. Both he and Hank had been combing through both the Stryker’s house and garden before being practically kicked out by Frost. Erik could tell he wasn’t the only one frustrated by the lack of closure to the murder. Still, it shocked Erik to see Charles hanging back so late.

“Charles? What’re you still doing here? I saw Hank leave hours ago.”

“Yeah I told him to go home, nothing much to do this evening except to wait for some tests results to come through. We didn’t need two people for that. Besides, Raven’s having a girly night in with her friends apparently. I do _not_ need to be present for that.”

“Is that why you’re hanging around here?”

Charles shot him a wry smile. “I actually have an excuse; I’ve been waiting for results in the lab. Why are you still here?”

Erik fumbled for an explanation that didn’t make him sound like a completely obsessive workaholic but Charles’ gaze had already slid past his shoulder to the board with the case notes on it. A small flicker seemed to pass over his face, Erik could have sworn it looked a little like a grimace. Then he blinked and turned to Erik with another half-smile.

“Ah. Getting anywhere with it?”

“Nnnh-” Erik said by way of an answer, pinching the bridge of his nose. God damn he was tired. “I’ve been staring at this fucking thing for two days now. I can’t see anything that helps. Though maybe all the coffee’s messing with my brain.” He added, indicating the bin beside him. Charles looked at the paper cup mountain and turned to stare incredulously at him.

“Erik….have you- have you been home recently?”

“Er, once this morning for a shower….why?”

“Oh for God’s sake-” Charles muttered under his breath and frowned. “Have you eaten today?”

Erik had the bizarre feeling that he was being told off. He blinked in confusion and Charles continued to stare pointedly at him. “What? What does that have to do with-?”

“ _Erik-_ ”

“Oh _alright!_ I had a banana in the break room this morning. Satisfied?”

Charles said nothing for a few seconds, in which Erik became convinced the ghost of his mother had somehow managed to possess his friend. He shifted uncomfortably under that searching gaze until Charles mercifully looked away and shook his head. The something happened Erik was not expecting in the slightest: Charles grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him to his feet in a feat of strength Erik hadn’t anticipated that slight build capable of. A faint noise of surprise escaped him as he suddenly found himself practically getting dragged towards the door.

“Not at all,” Charles said, as if he hadn’t just practically lifted Erik off the table. “C’mon let’s get some food.”

“I-you-no- _what?!_ ” Erik spluttered, which, frankly, was as eloquent as he could manage with the double whammy of _Charles_ and _dinner?_ crashing around his overtired brain. 

“There’s a good Chinese place near here,” Charles continued, apparently oblivious to Erik’s verbal floundering and internal panic attack. “I recommend you try the black bean chicken, it’s rather nice-”

“CHARLES!” Erik answered at last, wrenching his arm free of Charles’ grasp and trying to ignore the way he could still feel Charles’ touch through his shirt like a brand. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’ve got work to do!”

Charles gave him a look that was almost pitying. “You can’t do much work when you look dead on your feet Erik.”

“I do _not_ -” Erik began to protest, fully aware of how petulant he sounded. “Why are you-”

Charles cut him off irritably. “Because as your friend I insist you get something more substantial than coffee and a bloody banana inside you!”

Erik folded his arms, eyebrows raised in surprise. “And you’ve taken this upon yourself why?”

“Because I’m your _friend._ I thought we’d just established that.” 

It was all Erik could do not to make a derisive snort, instead rearranging his face into a teasing smirk. “Are you inviting me to dinner Mr Xavier?”

Now it was Charles’ turn to make a disparaging noise and he flung his arms into the air, clearly internally screaming over Erik’s stubbornness. Inside, Erik felt a flare of panic. What if Charles _was_ trying to invite him to dinner? _Please let him be joking please please don’t let him think I was turning him down and don’t want him please be joking please be joking---_

Charles snorted and rolled his eyes. “As if Lehnsherr, but I do insist on pestering you all night long if you don’t come with.”

Erik briefly considered refusing again just for the sheer hell of it, trying to quash the slightly nauseating mix of disappointment and horrible relief. Eventually he decided against it, fuck it, he was hungry. Besides, he’d had takeout with Charles dozens of times after closing cases, this one need be no different after all. “You’re paying.”

Charles grinned. “Of course.”

………………………………………………..

That was how Erik found himself jammed into a small booth in the corner of a Chinese restaurant poking his way through a mountain of black bean chicken with egg fried rice (he had tried to order something smaller but had been quickly shut down by a very insistent Charles). 

“Good isn’t it?” Charles smiled as Erik popped another piece in his mouth, spearing his own prawn dish with a chopstick. His smile only seemed to get more triumphant as Erik conceded that, yes, yes it was.

“I owe you one Chinese.” Erik said, around a mouthful of rice. Charles shook his head.

“You most certainly do not. I doubt Logan would forgive me if I let you pass out from hunger.”

“I’m serious-”

“So am I.” Charles cut in smoothly, jabbing his chopstick at Erik in a manner that strongly gave Erik the mental picture of a teacher gesturing with a piece of chalk. “I know you Erik; you get so wrapped up in your cases you forget to look after yourself. The dead can wait my friend, don’t burn yourself out.”

Erik blinked, a little unsure what to make of that. He wasn’t _that_ bad surely? He opened his mouth to tell Charles as such, but something in his friend’s expression told him arguing would be pointless and he should just drop it. He opted for stabbing at his rice again instead, his ears feeling a little warm.

“Well, thanks. I guess.”

Charles’s bright blue eyes flickered up to his for a second, and then dropped back to his food. “You’re welcome.” 

Silence fell between them as both men as they ate. In his daydreams, Erik asked Charles about his life outside work, his hobbies and interests, over what he imagined was a nice meal somewhere. He knew Charles lived with his adopted sister somewhere on the outskirts of town and that his family came from money somewhere down the line (not that Charles ever made much of a point about this, but it was a little hard not to learn that one of your colleagues grew up in a fucking _mansion._ ). He also knew Charles was an avid reader if the seemingly constant presence of battered books in his bags was any indication. He really should try and find out what kind of things Charles was into. For conversation starters, obviously. 

His brain, however, had other ideas. Opening his mouth his mind supplied something safe and easy to ask. “How’s Raven?”

Charles looked up at him again, face settled into a familiar expression of fond exasperation whenever his baby sister was mentioned. 

“Good! She’s good. She’s found work with a photography studio, so she keeps saying how she can finally stop mooching off me and find her own place.”

Erik had never actually met Raven Xavier, but having seen a photograph in Charles’ wallet he had the impression of long honey-blonde hair and dimpled cheeks. Charles spoke of her often, with such barely concealed joy that it was a little hard not to believe you knew her too. 

“That’s brilliant, good for her.” He replied, earning another warm smile from Charles.

“What about you? Anything interesting going on in the life of the mysterious Mr Lehnsherr?” He asked Erik teasingly. Erik raised an eyebrow.

“If there were you think I’d have stayed at my desk for nearly forty eight hours?”

“Ok, point taken.”

Erik glanced at his food, then back at Charles. “You think I’m mysterious?”

It took a few moments for Charles to answer, and when he finally did, Erik thought he could see a little tinge of pink about his cheeks. 

“I just mean- well- it’s that….what do you do outside work?”

Erik wasn’t quite sure how to reply. He didn’t really have much outside of work, he never had. Any dreams he’d ever had had died that night along with his parents. The only thing he could really think of was that he sometimes spent mornings cooking, though it was mainly an attempt to capture his mother’s talents as the years passed by. He _did_ enjoy it though.

“I…I cook.” He said lamely, looking away as he caught Charles’ head tilting in curiosity out of the corner of his eye.

“Really? I hadn’t…..thought it of you.”

“My mother tried to teach me a little when I was young, but ten year old boys never listen do they?” Erik continued, not entirely sure why he was dredging up old trivia. He hadn’t really given his cooking much thought; nobody ever actually ate it beside himself. “I’ve tried to remember what she told me, but I doubt I’ll ever get it as good.”

This clearly got Charles’ attention, for he now leaned forward a little in his chair. “Do you ever call her for tips?”

Something clenched painfully in Erik’s stomach. “She’s dead.” 

Charles blanched. “Oh….oh my god I am so sorry. That, that was thoughtless of me.”

“S’alright.” Erik replied, stabbing a piece of chicken perhaps a fraction more forcefully than was intended. “Long time ago.”

A pale hand entered his vision and rested on his forearm on the table. Erik started slightly at the contact and snapped his head back up to see Charles, who was looking at him with genuine sympathy.

“Erik,” he said softly, “Please forgive me, I really am sorry.”

Erik shot him a tight smile and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from pulling his arm back to grip his friend’s hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

_She would have adored you Charles._

It seemed a long time before Charles cleared his throat, the sound sharp and loud in the heavy silence that descended between them like lead. “Your….your father?”

“Also dead.”

“Christ,” Charles breathed, withdrawing his hand. “I can’t imagine-I didn’t mean to go blundering through that. I’m sorry.”

Despite the conversation, Erik felt actual humour tug at the corner of his mouth. “Charles, if you apologise one more time I swear I will beat you to death with my chopsticks.”

Charles seemed on the verge of apologising for apologising (a habit Erik had noticed often) but shut his mouth again and looked back to his food. 

Another silence fell over them, and Erik tried to find another topic of conversation that didn’t involve dead parents. Eventually he looked up again. “What about you? Do either you or Raven cook?”

Charles snorted again, “If we did we’d both be severely at risk of poisoning. We’re terrible, though I can burn lettuce if you give me enough time.”

This time Erik laughed. “Shame on you! I’ll have to teach you to scrape something together.”

Charles laughed and beamed at him from across the table. “Ha! I’ll hold you to that!”

……………………………………………………………..

_Ten days later._

“That’s gross.”

“Could have been worse, no blood to step over.”

Logan sneered back at him as they stood over the latest case they’d been called to, having conjured fuck-all for the Stryker boy. Erik distantly heard Moira yelling at members of the public to stay back while another cop taped off the entrances to where they were stood. Various workers and associates were creating a symphony of gasps and muttering behind them. It wouldn’t be long for Forensics to get down here and begin combing for more thorough evidence.

The main building of Trask Industries was a ‘modern’ monstrosity of glass and plastic, where everything was streamlined and gleaming from multiple fluorescent lights. It kind of made Erik’s eyes hurt. The company was responsible for pharmaceuticals, pills and medicines for the people of America, though it was known that it was looking into more ‘alternative’ methods (something that the media speculated on but never fully reported). In the middle of the giant foyer lay the body of Bolivar Trask, the science company’s CEO and founder. Often mocked by paparazzi for his diminutive size, his seventies looking attire constantly seemed at odds with his ultra-modern building. Nevertheless, Erik knew by hearsay was a fiercely intelligent biologist and a shrewd businessman.

That, and the fact his neck was currently bent at over ninety degrees. 

Logan let out a low whistle as he tilted his head to get a better look at Trask. “Well, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say he was tryin’ to recreate _‘The Exorcist’_ ”

Despite himself, Erik bit back a snigger. “Did Linda Blair have a moustache?”

“Only off-camera.”

“Oh, well it’s nice to see you two are professionals as always.” Snapped Moira as she walked up to them, giving Trask a dispassionate glance. “Thoughts?”

“Maybe someone got pissed at his overpriced medicines?” Logan said, in a tone of voice that suggested it was a perfectly plausible motive for murder. Judging by her dark scowl, Officer MacTaggert was not amused.

“I’m gonna go take a look at the security tapes; see if there’s anything useful there.” Erik cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“What? And leave me to flirt with MacTaggert?” Logan growled, “I’ll come with you.”

“Hey, I’m _right here_!”

“Stay and wait for Forensics to get here.” Erik told Logan, who was making a move to step over the body. He ignored the way one of Logan’s bushy eyebrows slunk upwards. “I can handle the tapes.”

“Don’t trust me bub? Fine, I’ll just flirt with Charlie boy when he gets here.”

Turning away from his partner, Erik bit his tongue to stop himself saying something rude. 

……………………………………………………………..

It turned out they were dealing with a murderer that knew what they were doing.

Letting out a grunt of frustration, Erik’s grasps tightened on the back of the poor security guard’s chair. 

“So…you’re saying there’s _nothing_ here? How did this even happen?”

“I’m s-sorry,” The young boy stammered, he looked barely old enough to shave, let alone be in charge of the security footage. His blonde hair was gelled up into thin spikes at his fringe. “I-I dunno how this all got wiped-”

“Who was here watching the tapes last night?”

“Er, I dunno. I’m sorry Detective! I really am!”

The kid looked as though he feared Erik was going to decapitate him then and there, eyes as wide as teacups. Erik endeavoured to soften his features a little bit.

“It’s alright. What’s your name?”

“B-Bobby, Sir. Bobby Drake.”

“Listen Bobby, whatever’s going on isn’t your fault okay? You’re not in any trouble.”

Bobby practically deflated with relief, clearly reassured that he wasn’t getting arrested any time soon. Erik took the opportunity to put on his best persuading/downright pleading face. 

“Could you just play it again for me? Just in case?”

The boy nodded and leaned forward towards his screen to rewind what little footage had been captured. After several seconds of grainy black and white frames going past something caught Erik’s attention. Barely a flash, no doubt mere milliseconds in real time. But Erik caught it anyway. “There!”

“Sir?”

“There, go back.” He instructed, leaning forward as well to point at the screen as Bobby replayed the tape. “Stop. Go forward a bit…no! Back…forward…! Ok! There, freeze it!”

The tape paused; Erik peered at the screen intensely, nose nearly touching it. In the corner of the screen was a reflection off a glass door. Someone that wasn’t Bolivar Trask and someone who sure as hell didn’t work at the Industry. The image was blurred, but the large, hulking frame was one Erik had seen once or twice before, and was itching to put behind bars forever.

He had fished out his phone to call Logan before he’d even registered what he was doing.

“Logan,” He hissed down the line the second his partner answered the phone, “It’s Creed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....Were you flirting Charles?.....
> 
> I cut this chapter in half because I didn't want to bog you guys down too much x
> 
> OH! I totally forgot! My Tumblr URL is burgersandtrenchcoats. Come say hi :3


	5. In Which Logan Has A Bone To Pick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for waiting guys! I've had a rough couple of weeks so I thank you all for your patience x

He ran full tilt back along the corridors to where he saw Logan and Moira jogging to meet him. Without stopping for breath Erik shoved the tapes he recovered from Bobby into Moira’s waiting hands.

“You’re sure it’s Creed?” Logan barked at him as he approached.

“It’s a shitty frame of footage, but the fucker kind of stands out in a crowd.”

Logan bared his teeth in an expression that was more snarl than smile. Erik recalled that his partner and Victor Creed had a very long and murky history that mainly involved Logan trying to haul Creed’s ass in a maximum security jail where he belonged and Creed responding with extreme violence. It was no secret within the precinct that Creed had been prime suspect in a murder case Logan had worked on years ago - a young homeless girl named Marie if Erik’s memory served him right - but a lack of concrete evidence meant that Creed had walked free. Logan had then tried to confront the thug, having been completely confident in Creed’s guilt and spurred on by righteous anger to see justice done. He hadn’t been counting on Victor Creed to be carrying a pocket knife. So, as far as the story went, a young girl was murdered, the man most likely responsible got away with nothing except a stern talking too and Logan received a nasty scar on his abdomen for his trouble. Erik knew that Logan harboured a barely hidden grudge.

And Erik decided that judging someone for having a long-standing judge was _beyond_ hypocritical. 

“The lets nail the bastard.” Logan declared. Erik didn’t need telling twice.

They rushed back into the foyer where – Erik noticed with a flip in his stomach - Charles and Hank were bent over the body of Trask, flashlights and tweezers out.

“Ah, Erik!” Charles called out by way of greeting, waving him over, “We’ve found some blond hair that might be use-”

“It’s Creed. I saw him on the security tape.” Erik cut across him, not even stopping to look. “We’re on our way now.”

He ploughed on, pushing past the gawking crowd into his waiting car as Logan stomped behind him, all the while wishing fervently he didn’t see Hank’s slightly put-out expression, nor hear Charles’ little _“Oh…okay then.”_ behind him. 

……………………………………………………….

Erik was pretty sure the entire building was some sort of fire hazard. Layers upon layers of old posters peeled away from bare brick walls whilst all manner of debris was piled high in various places. Wooden crates were stacked haphazardly near overflowing trash cans that valiantly tried to contain the mountains of trash and broken bottles that lay strewn across the ground. A dying streetlight flickered in and out of existence. Victor Creed was not known for being picky with his living space.

“You sure this is the right place?” He asked anyway, wrinkling his nose at the slightly sweet odour of rotting food near them. Logan rolled his shoulders, clearly itching to just storm inside and drag Creed out, protocol be damned. 

“This was his last known location. If the bastard’s not here, I’m sure there’s a little shit around here waiting to squeal.” Logan replied tonelessly. The words might have sounded indifferent but Erik could see the barely contained frustration behind dark eyes. Not that Erik could blame him; he doubted he’d be in so much control were their situations reversed.

“Ready when you are boys.” Said a helmeted cop just behind them. The hope had been to surprise Creed should he still be here and to bring him in for questioning with as little fanfare as possible. Were Erik and Logan stupider men, they would have done without back-up, going to question Creed by themselves. Fortunately, Neither Erik or his partner were stupid men. The back-up was a measly group of six; Erik had bitched the whole way there that they needed more. 

Erik let his hand wander to his hip and felt his fingers brush over the cool metal of his standard issue pistol. He tried to not fire it unless he absolutely had to. Though tonight he figured he could make a exception should Creed act up. 

Logan turned and nodded stiffly to the handful of cops, watching as they snuck forward and up the fire escape. Their combined footsteps echoed strangely in the darkening evening air. Erik drew his gun and held it aloft, turning to Logan as he did so, Logan did the same.

“You ready?”

“Always.” Was the growled reply.

Erik gave the cop at Creed’s door another nod. The heavy pounding on the door loud in the hushed anticipation of the police force:

“CREED! IT’S THE POLICE!” Someone bellowed. “OPEN UP.”

“Aw, didn’t even say _please_.” Logan drawled. Erik didn’t comment. Above them the team began – rather noisily – to batter down the locked door. Erik motioned Logan to inch closer as the large cop in front practically threw himself at the door in an attempt to open it. The wood of the door began to splinter under the constant pressure, accompanied by loud cracks that whipped around the vicinity. Within seconds the door caved completely, and the team swarmed in. 

Erik listened to the muffled shouting, not entirely sure whose voice was whose. He didn’t need to look at Logan to feel his partner wound up tight with anticipation, ready to snap and spring into action, his gun gripped tight. 

“Lehnsherr?”

“Mm?”

“Don’t do anything stupid tonight.”

Erik allowed himself a grim smile. “Practice what you preach.”

Logan shot him a thin smile back, eyes flashing.

The sound of bullets made both of them jump. Clearly Creed wasn’t going down without a fight today. Erik spurred his legs into a sprint, Logan not far behind him. As they ran to the stairwell one unfortunate cop suddenly crashed through the open door as if thrown, falling backwards and colliding heavily into the iron barrier with a shocked grunt.

Logan jerked his chin upwards. “Vicky’s home.”

They ran forwards, narrowly avoiding another man who half-fell towards them, clutching his shoulder. Stray bullets were lodged in the walls around them and, judging by the thin trickle of red running down the guy’s arm, in a few bodies too. The man looked up at them, eyes seemingly taking up half his face as they swam with pain.

“Creed, where is he?” Logan demanded. Erik craned his neck to keep a watchful eye on nearby doors.

“He-He went out the window.” The man gasped, “He practically threw Jeremy across the fucking room…”

Logan didn’t spare the guy another glance as he raced to the open window, ignoring other cops that lay strewn across the floor injured, Erik internally marvelled how one guy, even one as brutish as Victor Creed, could apparently take out six armed men single handed. Fishing out his phone he dialled the emergency services and handed it to the injured cop.

“Ask for an ambulance and wait for them here.” He instructed, and turned away as the guy took the phone, nodding shakily.

Catching up to Logan he looked down, it wasn’t that much of a drop, Creed could have easily jumped and ran down the alley.

“ _FUCK!_ ” Logan swore emphatically, slamming a fist against the window pane. 

“He can’t have gone far.” Erik said, turning on his heel. The two men ran out of the dilapidated apartment as various members of back-up were gradually coming to. 

Once they were outside Logan stashed the gun back into his belt and glanced back at Erik.

“I’ll take that alley, you take this bit.” He barked, tearing off down the asphalt before Erik could so much as protest.

“Logan wait!....ugh. Stupid fucker.” Erik hissed, very deliberately _not_ putting his gun away. Making his way down another empty alley Erik took slow, careful steps. If he blundered into a trash can or something equally stupid he’d most likely either attract Creed’s attention or make Logan shoot him by accident. Neither prospect seemed particularly appealing.

His breath clouded in the crisp air as he breathed, white puffs dissolving in the air as soon as they appeared. Everything seemed unnaturally still and silent as Erik picked his way over discarded wrappings and cigarette stubs, anticipation roiling in his stomach. 

“Logan where’d you get to?” He hissed through gritted teeth, turning to throw a glance over his shoulder. He realised his mistake in turning his head a few seconds too late.

Something large barrelled into his side with a growl. Erik fell heavily onto the ground, air crushed out of his lungs with the force. Massive hands with long, ragged nails began scrabbling over him, trying to reach for his gun.

“Gimme the gun!” Creed snarled at him, swiping at Erik’s shoulder. Erik rolled, trying to shove Creed’s weight off him. Bringing up a knee sharply Erik heard Creed’s grunt of pain as the blow connected with his groin. Using Creed’s momentary distraction Erik kicked out again, knocking his assailant backwards as he brought his hand, still holding the gun, up to smack the metal into the side of Creed’s head.

Creed roared in shock as Erik pushed himself out from range, rushing unsteadily to his feet.

_“LOGAN!”_ he yelled, whirling back to look at Creed, who, despite Erik’s attempt at rendering him unconscious, was rising to his feet. Erik raised his gun.

“Don’t move!” He barked. “You’re under arrest-”

Erik was cut off by Creed lunging for him again. When asked later, Erik would blame his inability to subdue Creed by himself on the fact his partner went gallivanting off by himself. But as it was, Erik now found himself getting roughly tackled to the ground once more. As they grappled and rolled Erik vaguely noted it was a genuine fucking _miracle_ he didn’t shoot either of them accidentally. Creed’s hands were practically claws as they whipped in and out of Erik’s vision. A thrill of alarm shot through Erik’s system as Creed managed to grip the wrist of his gun hand in a bone-crushing grip. Grunting in pain Erik tried once again to throw Creed off but Creed was quicker, his other hand slamming around Erik’s throat. Suddenly Erik found it very hard to draw breath, the grips on both his wrist and throat equally tight and painful. Struggling against Creed’s hold Erik managed to choke out a weak “Logan—”

Spot began to dance before Erik’s eyes, the ugly sight of Creed’s teeth bared going blurry. He felt a stab of panic: _Oh Christ don’t let me die now not here Logan where the fuck are you? Not now I’m sorry Mama, Charles oh Jesus…_

Something equally blurry flew into Erik’s sight and, miraculously, the weight on top of him was gone.

His lungs burned as he sucked in large, ragged breaths, coughing horribly as he brought a hand up to massage his poor assaulted windpipe. Blinking to clear his head Erik turned to see Creed crying out angrily as he wrestled on the filthy floor with an equally pissy Logan.

Erik rolled shakily to his knees, swallowing with difficulty. Adrenaline made his hands tremble slightly as he listened to the meaty thumps of Logan’s fists pummelling Creed’s face. _Good,_ Erik thought viciously _avenge my trachea._

After a few moments, Logan had managed to wrench Creed’s arms behind him and bind his wrists in handcuffs. Then he saw Logan throw another punch. Just in case.

“You alright?” Logan asked. Erik threw him the dirtiest glare he possessed. 

“Where the _fuck_ were you?!” He managed to demand, voice harsher than normal. Logan, the bastard, gave him a shrug.

“I’m here now.” He answered simply. 

Erik was going to _kill_ him.

…………………………

Erik glared through the two-way glass into the interrogation room. Creed sat sullenly inside, glaring down at his hands. His grip had left a ring of purple bruises on both his wrist and throat, a sight that had caused Charles to completely forget what he was talking about when he had handed Erik his forensics report. As he watched the hulking waste of space, Logan sidled up to him and handed him a cup of coffee in a plastic cup. Erik took it without comment. 

“Well, he hasn’t trashed the room yet.” Logan observed dryly.

“Why do we have him here again?” Erik huffed, taking a sip. “The DNA on Charles and Hank’s reports matches his. We’ve got the bastard.”

“Yeah, but isn’t it nice when they think they got a chance?” Logan replied, his lips drawn back in what could be called, if one were generous, some sort of grin. He gave Erik an almost friendly pat on the arm. “Let’s go.”

They strode into the interrogation room, a few other officers looking in as they set up the recorder. Creed glared up at them, working his mouth into a harsh line. 

“Heya Vicky.” Logan greeted him cheerfully, “How’s the hovel?”

“Fuck you Howlett.” Came the snide reply. Erik raised an eyebrow.

“Come Mr Creed, we’re all friends here. You know, I never fully appreciated my ability to breathe before, thank you for that by the way.” 

Creed didn’t answer, but continued to glare at Logan. “I want a lawyer.”

“Oh we can get you a lawyer,” Logan shot back, gesturing to the two-way glass for those outside. “There we go, they’ll be here in a moment.”

…………………………………………….

Scott Summers was a gangly thing, all limbs and angles. There were two things Erik knew Logan hated: Lawyers, and fresh faced enthusiasm. Being a fresh faced lawyer was a one way ticket into Logan’s contempt, which was undoubtedly the reason Logan practically rolled his eyes as Summers walked into the room, briefcase in hand.

“Gentleman.” He smiled politely, taking off his sunglasses (which surprised Erik, he assumed they were welded onto the man’s face.) and sitting beside Creed, who sneered.

“I wanted a lawyer, not some kid.”

“Yes, well I wanted to eat my lunch in the canteen in peace. But we can’t all get what we want now, can we Mr Creed?” Summers shot back, showing some remarkable balls for someone within arm’s reach of a suspected killer, Erik thought.

“My heart bleeds for you both.” Logan drawled, then nodded to Erik. “Get on with it.”

Erik looked at Creed. “Mr Creed, where were you two nights ago?”

“At home.”

“Can anybody verify that?”

“I was home.”

“Trask’s security tapes say otherwise.” Logan cut in, clearly impatient to just cut to the chase. 

“We also have DNA evidence from one of your hairs found on Trask’s body.” Erik pointed out.

“Planted, detective.” Creed growled.

“Maybe,” Logan answered, leaning forward slightly, “But, wiping the tapes except for a few frames that show your face? You’re getting sloppy Victor.” 

Something dark flittered across Creed’s face, as though he just tasted something bad. Erik narrowed his eyes. “Had you ever been to Trask Industries before?”

“No, and I never have.” Creed said, shocking Erik a little by the attempt of just blatant lying. “A few frames and a scrap of hair.” Creed continued, “Coincidences happen detective.”

This was frustrating. Creed was either trying to outright lie or tell them half-truths to trip them up, and Erik couldn’t quite decide which one. He snuck a glance at Summers, who looked just as exasperated as Erik felt.

“Just tell them the truth Creed!” Summers snapped. “Maybe you’ll just get a nice long prison sentence instead of death row like you deserve.”

“That doesn’t seem very friendly now.” Creed smiled at Erik, who fought very hard not to shudder. There was something _ugly_ in that smile.

“Why did you kill Trask? Why him?” Logan half-shouted. 

For a few moments Creed didn’t acknowledge Logan had spoken, then, strangely, his shoulders managed to slump even lower than usual. He gave them all a small chuckle.

“You don’t even know what’s going on do you?”

“What do you mean?” Erik asked sharply. 

Creed looked at them almost with pity. “Poor baby police officers….don’t even see what’s happening under their noses….”

“Cut the bullshit Victor!” Logan spat, looking very nearly like he was about to spring from his seat and throttle Creed himself. “What are you talking about?”

“I killed Trask because he got in the way.” Creed said simply, stunning them all.

“In the way?” Summers prompted, sounding incredibly curious. 

“He wouldn’t sell, so he had to go.”

“Sell _what?_ ” 

“You think I’ll tell _you?_ ” Creed said incredulously, barking out a harsh laugh. “I’ve given you what you need. I snapped Trask’s little neck. Go ahead, arrest me detectives.” He grinned, “That’s all you’ll have from me.”

A silence descended in the interrogation room, four men each staring at the others. 

“Yeah, that’s all we need.” Logan replied nastily. 

Jerking his chin to the others outside Erik stood and rapped on the door to signal the need to take Creed into custody. Summers began to pack away his papers.

“Well you have your confession; I don’t think your defence will get anywhere.” He was saying to Creed, clearly not caring what happened to the thug. “Maybe we can get you down to twenty years if you’re a good boy-”

“Got what you wanted then Jimmy?” Creed cut across him, ignoring him in favour of addressing Logan in an undertone. “Me off the streets? Protecting the poor innocent population?”

“This isn’t for the population, you mouth-breathing piece of shit.” Logan hissed back viciously. Erik hovered just behind them, ready to intervene if either decided to start a rematch of their tussle from last night. Logan gave no indication he realised Erik was there. “This is for Marie.”

With that, Logan sprang to his feet and shoved past Erik, who turned to glare at Creed. 

“What did you mean about something under our noses?”

Creed made a mock pout at him. “You’re a detective ain’t you? _Find. Out._ ” 

Erik continued to stare Creed down a moment longer, then turned to follow Logan past the others streaming into the room, a strange feeling of foreboding in his gut.

…………………………………………..

_I’m sorry I cut you off the other day._

Erik fired off the text to Charles, hoping that Charles wasn’t completely offended by him storming past him at Trask Industries. They had seen each other briefly as Charles had handed his report in, but any attempt at conversation Erik had planned had quickly derailed when Charles had caught sight of Creed’s leftovers and had promptly demanded to know what had happened. Erik had been somewhat worried Charles would force him to eat soup or something, thankfully Charles had abandoned working himself up into mother hen mode when Erik had quickly assured him there was no harm done. If there was one thing you could count on Charles for, it was being completely overprotective of his colleagues. 

Erik’s phone buzzed with Charles reply: _Don’t worry about it! Just glad you caught the guy._

_Well one less scumbag at least._

The answer came back mere minutes later, _Huzzah for that my friend._

Erik fought the urge to grin at Charles deciding the word ‘huzzah’ was still appropriate in the twenty first century. The humour was tempered a little at Creed’s words earlier that day. Something going on at the Force? Should he tell Charles?

Tell him about what? Some cryptic bullshit an insane criminal had sprouted at him whilst being arrested? No point worrying anyone else with nonsense.

And yet….

Instead, he sent back: _Huzzah? Really? You realise this isn’t the 1800’s right?_

_Thank you, I wondered where all the bustles went._

Okay, that time Erik really did laugh. Before he could think of an appropriately witty reply, another text came through from Charles: _Pardon me if I’m out of line, but shouldn’t you be doing something fun on your Friday night?_

Erik frowned. _I’ll be in work tomorrow anyway, so I can’t have too much fun. Sorry am I bothering you?_

He didn’t really mean it to sound so brusque, and he felt a little relieved when Charles sent back _Certainly not! I just wondered what you were up to?_

_I’m depressing myself over a Spanish soap opera thank you very much. I’m set._

Charles’ reply simply consisted of a laughing emoticon. Erik smiled back at his phone screen, then carried on watching whatever crap he’d managed to find on the television. He couldn’t speak a word of Spanish, but he assumed the crying woman was very upset about a man. Or possibly a baby. Or both. Maybe he should ask Angel if she watched it, or someone else at the station.

_“You don’t even know what’s going on do you?”_

Erik jerked at the ghost of Creed’s voice in the back of his mind. He knew better than to put stock in the desperate things a man could say to scare them, but, Erik couldn’t deny it made him uneasy.

_Just Creed trying to freak you out, no more,_ he told himself, and tried to convince himself that he believed his own conviction to be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Creed is a shithead, I can't help it!


	6. In Which There Is A Party And Erik Acquires A Strange Article Of Clothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! We've got a more light-hearted chapter for today. A little festive interlude if you will. I figured with Christmas only a few days away you might like a bit of a breather episode. So here we go, XMAS CHAPTER PEOPLE!!

Erik wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked into the precinct the following morning, but applause was not it.

Well, ok. It wasn’t _applause_ exactly; it was really more of a modest smattering of hands from various people stood around the office. Angel Salvadore grinned at him from across her desk while her partner Sean Cassidy actually whooped, bright red curls flopping about on his forehead.

Erik stood there dumbfounded, wondering what the hell was so spectacular about his ability to open the door. Then he saw Logan approach him to clap a hand onto his shoulder.

“Drink it in, Bub.” He advised, giving the office a lopsided grin and even going so far as waggling a suggestive eyebrow at a young female intern who flushed bright red and giggled. Erik lifted a tentative hand and, trying to follow Logan’s example, gave a very awkward wave. This earned him another _whoo!_ from Cassidy at the back.

“What’s this for?” Erik hissed out the side of his mouth.

“S’far as they’re concerned, we heroically took Creed off the streets.” Logan supplied. Erik frowned.

“We’re not going to tell them I got my ass handed to me doing so are we?”

“Course not. Smile and wave Lehnsherr.” 

It was a full ten minutes before Erik finally managed to work his way to his desk. Throwing one last steely glare in Cassidy’s direction before another _whoo!_ could be flung his way. He opened up his email and saw a politely worded email from Hendry that managed to be complimentary about his involvement in bringing down Creed and vaguely condescending about the lack of progress with the Styker case all at once. Erik sighed but didn’t deign to reply. In truth, something about Creed’s words bothered him, and there was a sneaking doubt crawling under his skin that putting Creed into custody may have been too soon. That they could have gotten more out of him.

Still, Erik reasoned with himself, plenty of opportunities to do so in the upcoming trials.

Out the corner of his eye Erik saw Angel sliding up to him, the leather jacket squeaking softly as she walked. 

“So I hear you’re coming to the Christmas party again this year.” She said cheerfully, by way of greeting. Erik looked at her.

“How’d you hear that?”

“I am actually a detective too, you know.” Angel retorted, rolling her eyes. “There’s a wonderful tactic called ‘asking around’-”

“Which means you asked Charles.”

“I _knew_ someone bullied you into it! HA!” 

Erik frowned at the gleefully triumphant tone to her voice; he threw a particularly steely glare at her that got promptly ignored. Angel snorted with laughter and waved her hand in a beckoning motion.

“Come on, how’d he convince you? Did he bribe you? Is that it? He promised you something to show your face-?”

Erik was unimpressed. “Who says I’m not coming of my own free will?”

“Dude c’mon, Ebeneezer Scrooge doesn’t have anything on you!”

“You constantly seem to wilfully ignore the fact that I’m Jewish, Detective Salvadore.”

Angel made a face at him, as though Erik had completely missed the point she was trying to make. If that point was something that involving Erik wearing another paper crown then Erik didn’t really want to see it at all. 

“Anyway, Sean owes me lunch now.” Angel continued, beaming at him. “Thanks Scrooge!”

Erik’s response was nowhere near as cheerful but she didn’t seem to mind, grinning as she waltzed back off to join her partner. 

………………………………………………………..

Christmas had never been a particularly great concern in Erik’s life. As the list of problems on a Jewish detective obsessed with vengeance went, a Christian holiday didn’t rank very high, barely a scribble at the bottom even. But, as it was, here he stood on his day off, standing outside a shop window and glaring at the merchandise tucked between fake snow and twinkling lights.

His current dilemma was – as many of his dilemmas seemed to be of late – Charles Xavier. Charles Xavier, with his big blue eyes and his goddamn _niceness_ and essentially being so innocently diabolical that he’d managed to get Erik to agree to celebrate a tradition he didn’t care for with people he didn’t really like. 

And if that meant Erik had decided to purchase a gift for _one_ person this year, then it was damn well Charles’ fault as well.

Not that this decision was going very well. After all, what sort of gift said _friend_ and not _I would totally jump your bones if you asked_? Maybe a cardigan? Charles was always wearing some sort of attire that put Erik in mind of some sort of balding middle aged professor. Besides, New York was cold this time of year. 

Erik nodded curtly to himself, and pushed open the door. Warm air blasted him in the face as he stepped into the clothing shop. No sooner had he looked towards a rack of abominable multi-coloured ties that a perfectly coiffed assistant came bounding up to him, her white cloud of hair particularly striking against her dark skin.

“Hello,” She smiled at him. “Can I help you with anything Sir?”

“Christmas present.” Erik grunted, shoving his hands into his pockets. The girl clucked her tongue in understanding. 

“Ah, I see. Male or female?”

Erik considered ignoring her and trying another place. Then reasoned with himself that he had absolutely no clue about how to shop for anyone beside himself and this girl was only doing her job. Hell, he may as well get some help here. “Male.”

The girl made a considering noise, and then smiled again. “Friend? Family?”

“Friend.” Erik supplied, a little too quickly. “Colleague really.” He corrected himself. However, the assistant had apparently stopped listening at _friend_ and began casting an intelligent gaze at some nearby racks. Then, because Erik clearly hadn’t provided her with nearly enough information, turned back to him. 

“Are we thinking something general, like a scarf? Or something a little more personal?”

“Well, he wears a lot of cardigans.” 

The assistant’s mouth quirked up a little at the corner, like she predicted as much. “Well, we have a very nice range of sweaters and pullovers over here-”

Erik followed her, only half listening as she rattled off information and prices of various things. His eye wandered over to a light blue woollen cardigan hanging off the rack, which may not have caught his eye if it hadn’t been for the horrendous turtleneck next to it.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, but you look like you could pull off a turtleneck very well.” The girl said brightly, flicking an amused glance to the _thing_ peeking out at them.

Erik shot her a flat stare. “It’s pink.”

“It’s maroon!” She protested, pulling it off the rack and holding it against him. Erik wasn’t sure whether to back away or continue glaring. The girl looked up at him, clearly fighting laughter.

“You’d look very dashing….” She continued, and then heaved a weary sigh. “Okay, I’ll just come out and say it: This thing is awful. I’ve been trying to get rid of it for _weeks_ , I’ll even knock a couple of dollars off if you want. Just….give it to your friend? Take it?” 

“Look, Miss-?”

“Ororo.”

“Ororo, I wouldn’t give that thing to a dying cat, let alone my friend. I will take this,” He pulled the blue one off its hanger, the material soft in his hands. “And be on my way. Thank you.”

“But-”

“I mean it. I’m sorry. Good luck selling…. _that._ ”

He made his way to the counter, folding the blue material as he did so. He could imagine Charles in this; soft, warm and blue. If anyone thought it matched Charles’ eyes, then who was he to argue?

The assistant – Ororo – bagged up his purchase, giving the pink turtleneck meaningful glances as she did so. Erik pressed his lips together, trying very hard to not be amused. She could give him the puppy look all she liked; he wasn’t going to be swayed.

“People like guys that can pull off pink.” She offered.

Maybe he could be swayed a little.

“I don’t care about people.” He answered flatly. Perhaps Ororo saw something in his expression as a challenge, so she plunged on.

“It looks brown in the dark.”

“Like I’d wear it at any time of day.”

“You’d look good in it!”

“I _highly_ doubt that.”

Ororo paused, chewing her lower lip. Erik found himself strongly reminded of Charles, and flicked his gaze away.

“Half price.” She said firmly. Erik huffed a low laugh.

“Doesn’t this pay your wages?” He shot back, raising an eyebrow. Ororo shrugged.

“If you take that turtleneck, you can have it for free for all I care.”

“Done.” Erik said, chuckling at the blank look of shock on the poor girl’s face as she registered his agreement, as if she wasn’t quite sure she’d actually heard it.

“You’ll-You’ll actually take it?!” She gasped. Erik cast a rueful look at the bundle of pink material on the counter, then back at the assistant’s face. He hadn’t said anything about not doing humanity a favour and burning the damn thing once he got home with it, but the girl looked so _grateful_ . Erik wasn’t a complete monster, and if taking this thing meant he could leave the shop with a nice gift for Charles, it wouldn’t hurt him to do so. He’d probably never wear it anyway. 

“If it’ll stop you nagging me about it then yes.”

“You’re my new favourite customer.” Ororo beamed at him. Erik presented his card to pay and caught an eyeful of blue and pink nestled in together in his bag. Honestly, the things he did for Charles.

“I’m touched.” He replied, wondering if she would notice if he dumped it in the bin outside.

……………………………………………………………………………

Erik didn’t throw it in the bin. As the evening of the office Christmas party arrived, he’d apparently suffered a temporary bout of insanity and had donned the turtleneck in a misguided attempted at festive cheer. He instantly regretted it the second he got to the precinct doors, and stubbornly buttoned up his coat to the chin.

Maybe Ororo would be right, maybe it could pass for brown in the dim lights of the office.

Walking into the foyer he followed the steady thump of bass coming from one of the upper floors. He made his way to the cloakroom with relative ease but had the misfortune of running into Logan as he shucked off his coat.

“Lehnsherr? You actually came?! Damn, I’ve been taking bets you weren’t actually gonna show- _are you wearing pink?_ ” 

“It’s maroon.” He replied tartly, turning around to face Logan, who, surprise surprise, was wearing his faithful white vest. Two bushy eyebrows climbed Logan’s craggy forehead.

“Oh do excuse me.” Logan drawled, a mocking lilt to his voice. “It sure looks pink.”

“Fuck off Howlett.” Erik replied, pushing past him. Whatever Logan had shot back in retort was drowned out by music as Erik walked into the party. Tinsel was pinned along the edges of desks and foil decorations hung from the ceiling. The normally beige room was now an explosion of reds, golds and greens. Erik hated it instantly. 

A buffet table was lined up at the side of the room, piled high with food Erik was pretty sure wasn’t kosher (Not that Erik had stuck to kosher in years, but he was going to complain about it anyway on principle.) , and a punch bowl was surrounded by plastic cups. Erik sidled up to it and nibbled at some sort of pastry that had gone a little stale. 

A pale hand touched him lightly on the arm. Erik turned to see Charles grinning up at him, wearing a chunky festive sweater. Erik hastily wiped crumbs off his face.

“Erik! You came!” Charles said, a bit unnecessarily. Erik nodded with more enthusiasm than he actually felt. Belatedly, he realised Charles was staring at his chest. The turtleneck suddenly felt a little tight, but Erik’s hindbrain launched into a thousand possibilities. Then, actually looking at Charles’ expression, came to the conclusion that Charles wasn’t actually looking at his torso, but at his sweater.

“You…look good in pink.” Charles said, clearly trying to be nice about Erik’s regrettable fashion choice. 

“It’s _maroon._ ” He replied lamely, trying to defend his decision. Charles smiled, almost shyly.

“Well I can’t say much, Raven nearly had a heart attack when I put this on.” He said, gesturing at his own garb. “But, you do look good though.”

Erik looked down at himself, his cheeks feeling a little warm at the compliment. “You think so?”

“Really.” Charles said. The two of them smiled at each other in the dim glow of the Christmas lights, then Erik’s stomach did a twisted little flop when he became aware that Charles had yet to remove his hand from Erik’s arm. His throat suddenly felt incredibly dry. The urge to wrap his other arm around Charles’ waist was intense to the point of painful. A flare of panic swept along his insides, and, turning to the punch bowl he felt Charles let go, and tried to stamp out the disappointment in his chest. He poured two helpings of punch and handed one to Charles, who took it with a smile. It was probably a combination of Erik’s imagination, the heating in the room, and the dim lights, but it seemed that Charles had gone a little red in the cheeks. 

“So…what have you been doing? Anything interesting?” Charles asked lightly.

 _I daydreamed you and I were trapped in a lift for hours and ended up without many clothes on. That was fun._ Erik answered in his head.

“Not much.” Erik answered aloud.

Which killed the conversation pretty quickly. Erik took a sip of punch and made a face at how watered down it was.

“Disgusting isn’t it? Well I guess you can’t have too much temptation for vice in the middle of a police building.” Charles commented, pulling a similar face. “Bad for publicity, that.”

“Do they always serve this crap at our office parties?”

Charles nodded, wry amusement colouring his features. He glanced at the tinsel decorations and, while some other festive song blared from the stereo, gave Erik a sideways glance. “Bet you regret coming now don’t you?”

It was on the tip of Erik’s tongue to reply that, yes, yes he did and he would really like to go home now. But he opted for shrugging instead.

“I don’t know, the company’s a little better here than alone in my apartment.” He replied over the rim of the cup, very deliberately not looking at Charles who just hummed in amusement again.

“That reminds me,” Erik continued, hooping that he did indeed sound casual and not like he’d been fretting over this for about an hour at all. “Here.”

Before he lost his nerve, he thrust the lumpy bundle under Charles’ nose. His wrapping skills left much to be desired, and the lights glinted off the overused cellotape. Charles gave the gift a startled look, then back to Erik, his mouth open as a little red ‘ _o_ ’. 

“Erik—” he breathed, looking like he’d never seen Erik before. Erik felt his face heat and immediately heard himself start babbling before he could stop himself:

“I-It’s not much; I don’t really _do_ this sort of thing so I didn’t really... Um. Well, anyway, this is just a gift. For you. I guess. Sorry. Merry Christmas.”

“Erik.” Charles repeated, a little more firmly this time. Erik cut himself out and forced himself to meet Charles’ eyes. That blue gaze was shiny as he gently took the bundle from Erik’s hands. “I’m sure I’ll love it. Thank you.”

And with that, he hooked one arm around Erik’s shoulders and pulled him down into an awkward little half hug.

Erik froze. Well, his body froze while his brain played ‘Ode to Joy’ at double the speed. Charles was hugging him. _Charles was HUGGING him!_ What should he do? It wouldn’t do to just sort of lean his head down even further and settle onto Charles’ shoulders, close his eyes and pull him close now would it? No matter how good it would feel, Charles probably wouldn’t welcome such a touch. Not very professional. 

Instead, he raised a shaking arm around Charles’s shoulders and gave a brief but affectionate squeeze, and, with a supreme amount of effort, let go.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything!” Charles blurted, bringing Erik out of his thoughts. “I didn’t know-”

“Shut up and just accept my crappy gift Charles.” Erik cut across him, perhaps a little more forcefully than was necessary, but it stopped Charles from whatever guilt induced rant he was about to go off on. 

Someone called Charles’ name from across the office. Charles looked at Erik, apology written over his face. Erik waved him off.

“Go ahead, I’ll be here next to the punch water if you need me.”

Charles shot him a little apologetic smile again, then held the present closer to his chest as he turned to answer whoever had called. Erik watched him disappear among the small crowd, feeling oddly lightheaded. 

He lost track of time loitering by the buffet table, deliberately avoiding any attempts at socialising with those that came here. He knew this could only further cement his reputation for being the cold-hearted bastard he normally was, pink turtleneck or no pink turtleneck. He didn’t mind particularly, he’d gotten a hug from Charles and no amount of gossip could take that away from him.

Charles came back through the crowd, narrowly avoiding being tackled by a tipsy Kitty Pryde and managed to make his way back to where Erik was stood.

“Good lord man!” He laughed, “Have you been stood here all this time?”

“I fully intend to channel your Ghost of Christmas Future and loiter silently until someone makes this thing more interesting by dying.” Erik deadpanned, but he could tell Charles knew he wasn’t being completely serious. 

“Why don’t you go dance?” Charles suggested, nodding to the gaggle of their co-workers enthusiastically jumping around to ‘Jingle Bell Rock’. Erik looked around to Charles, wondering whether he’d lost his mind somewhere between the punch bowl and the water cooler. His horror must have shown on his face, because Charles winced and raised his hands defensively. 

“Yikes! Okay, bad idead then.” He half-laughed. 

“Did someone say dance?” Came a female voice. Erik turned and blinked in surprise.

“MacTaggert?!” 

Moira smiled ruefully at him. “Hello to you too Lehnsherr.”

Her hair wasn’t in its usual practical ponytail, but hung in thick waves around her face. A little make-up brought out her eyes and the uniform he was so accustomed to seeing her in had been replaced by a simple black dress that showed off a slender figure. She looked….younger, somehow. Softer.

If Erik were that way inclined he’d even go so far as to call her pretty.

His confusion was ignored as Charles stepped forward, a bright grin lighting up his face. 

“Moira darling! You look wonderful!” He beamed, pulling her into a real hug and planting a kiss on her cheek which she returned with a smile. They exchanged pleasantries that Erik only half heard, his mind clinging to the word _darling_ like it was some new swearword he hadn’t heard before. He noted, with a little bitterness, how easy Moira allowed herself to be enveloped into Charles’ hug and returning him back in equal measure. Charles was comfortable with her touching him back.

“Erik come with us!” Charles chirped, holding out a hand to Erik. Erik frowned.

“What?”

Charles rolled his eyes, like Erik was being obtuse on purpose. “To _dance_ Erik, Moira wants to and I’m not one to leave a lady without a dance partner. However, I’m also not one to leave my friend moping around the buffet table by himself. Come dance with us!”

“I—” Erik countered, his throat constricted. MacTaggert was giving him a lopsided smile over Charles’ shoulder. A wild, fleeting thought flew through Erik’s brain that suggested he just grab Charles’ offered hand and let himself get dragged further into this hellhole of a party. He met Charles’ wide eyes, which shone with genuine hope and something else Erik wasn’t sure he could pinpoint. He opened his mouth to answer when Moira slid her hand through the crook of Charles’ arm, and Erik’s mind finally grounded itself in the present.

“Sorry, I’m not much of a dancer.” 

Charles seemed to deflate a little; a flicker of something Erik wished could be disappointment across his features. 

“Oh….you sure?”

“Positive.” Erik stopped himself from throwing a dark glare in MacTaggert’s direction, but only barely. He tried to lighten his voice a little. “I’d be an embarrassment to the whole of New York if I tried.” 

Charles continued to look at him, a little sadly. Erik pressed on:

“But go on! Go dance.” He turned to Moira. “Enjoy yourselves.”

With a little nod, they left him and went to join the others. In a flurry of movement Erik saw them turn to face one another and begin moving in earnest. As the song went on Erik saw a little tension leak from Charles’ posture as he and Moira began to get into the spirit of the thing. Erik felt a stab of something hot and painful riddle his guy as Charles threw his head back and laughed at something that was said. He wanted to be able to make Charles laugh so hard.

Charles put an arm around Moira’s waist and they began what Erik supposed was some upbeat version of a waltz, the two of them grinning as they rocked to the music. 

Erik swallowed hard, the punch suddenly feeling like a lead weight inside him. The lights were really beginning to get on his nerves, as was the thumping music from the speakers. Everything in the room was pissing him off.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Logan leaning against a table, eyeing the party with a look of irritation that probably mirrored Erik’s own. Catching his partner’s gaze Erik nodded. Maybe they could be antisocial bastards together. 

“I’m getting out of here bub.” Logan grunted as he came near. “There’s a bar ‘round here that serves better pisswater than whatever they got in the bowl.”

The invitation went unsaid, but Erik nodded again. “I’ll get my jacket.”

“Yeah whatever man. Let’s go.” Came the reply. Logan meandered his way through the people mingling about the place and paused to glance somewhere on the dance floor. Erik frowned in confusion but his partner shook his head and muttered something to himself before stalking off again. Without trying to be too obvious Erik looked around at what Logan had seen and saw Scott Summers dancing with Jean Grey at the edges of the floor. For a moment Erik watched them, the two of them sharing a small, secret smile with one another and they embraced. Erik turned back to look at Logan’s retreating back.

It seemed Erik wasn’t alone in his jealousy tonight.

…………………………………………………………………….

Once they were outside Logan lit up yet another one of his cigars. For once Erik didn’t complain about it, despite Logan giving him a questioning look through the smoke. Behind them the muffled music still played and the windows glowed an almost eerie red with the Christmas lights. He wondered what sort of song they were playing now, was it a lively sort of tune? Or something slow? Would the dancers pull each other close for a slow dance, they cheeks brought together as they spoke in low tones in each other’s ears? Would Charles pull MacTaggert closer to him? Unaware that Erik had already left with a headache from the noise and a hollow feeling in his gut.  
He drew in a deep breath of cold night air and slowly exhaled, his breath creating a cloud in against the inky black sky.

Erik hated parties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Erik, you moron.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I promise we'll be on the plot train again next chapter.
> 
> I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year x


	7. In Which Erik Ignores His Boss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you've had a brilliant start to the new year!
> 
> I'm really sorry this has taken so long, life dumped a load of crap on me these past few weeks (work commitments and such) and my laptop decided that was a really great time to crash *shakes fist angrily*

_One month later,_

Christmas came and went with little fanfare for Erik, as usual. There were no Hannukah celebrations for him either, the foster homes he’d been sent to after his parent’s murder hadn’t been interested in his prior upbringing and so tradition had fallen through. Instead, he spent his holidays going through paperwork for cases and avoiding the festive spirit in general, keeping half an eye on the media that had exploded with speculation about what would happen to Trask Industries now the CEO was dead. The favourite to take over the company appeared to be some sort of businessman named Shaw, or was it Sawyer? Erik didn’t particularly care. 

He didn’t see much of Charles during those weeks, and he tried not to think about it. He hadn’t been avoiding his friend, exactly. It’s just that he wasn’t deliberately seeking him out either. Logan typically dumped the paperwork on him, meaning he had no business to take him to the labs. What Charles was up to wasn’t his business. Not really.

Except that running into Charles in the corridors was pretty much a given; they worked in the same damn building after all. 

Erik barely had time to do something stupid like ducking into another room before he came face to face with Charles, looking a little harried with the white lab coat trailing behind him.

“Oh, Erik.” He said as soon as he was near enough for Erik to hear him. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Was the articulate response.

“I didn’t really get to say goodbye to you at that party.” Charles continued, his voice taking on a polite yet vaguely accusatory shade. Erik shrugged and looked at a piece of artwork hanging on the opposite wall that just seemed to be a mass of blobs and lines and wasn’t really that interesting at all.

“Yes well, Logan invited me to the bar around the corner.” He refused to defend his perfectly innocent actions that Charles would have noticed sooner if he hadn’t been too busy grinding against Agent MacTaggert. 

Charles chewed the inside of his lip. “I see. You could have at least told me where you were going-”

“Well it wasn’t exactly like you were going to notice was it?” Erik cut in, a trifle sharper than he’d really intended but, dammit, Charles couldn’t be all high-and-mighty about it if he’d so readily abandoned Erik at the table could he? A snide voice in the back of his head pointed out that he _had_ insisted Charles go off and have fun at the party. Erik ignored it, even if that was true, it wasn’t like Charles had taken much convincing was it? In any case, he stood up a little straighter, the movement a little too fast so the other man flinched ever so slightly.

“What are you so pissy about?” Charles shot back, pink spots starting to appear high on his cheeks. 

“I’m not pissy!”

“Well you’re clearly upset about something!” Charles hissed in tones that suggested he was trying very hard not to raise his voice. “What’s your problem?”

A hot swoop of anger played along Erik’s insides. He’d done nothing wrong! He’d left a party he had never really wanted to attend in the first place, having a beer with Logan instead of fucking _pining_ at the sidelines for someone who clearly hadn’t missed him at the time. Now Charles had the audacity to stand there accusing him of….something? No. Charles didn’t get to do that, not when Erik hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t Charles’ business. 

“My _problems_ ” Erik drawled, “Are not really any of your business now are they Charles?”

Charles looked like he’d been slapped. Something told Erik that perhaps now would be a remarkable time to get the fuck out of there before he did or said something he’d very likely regret. “Now, if you excuse me.”

Ignoring Charles’ spluttered reply; he shouldered his way past and walked down the corridor without looking back. 

…………………………………………….

It was that afternoon that Erik decided he needed to speak to Victor Creed again. 

“Why, in the name of God’s green Earth, do you want to do that?” Hendry frowned as Erik stood before his desk, shuffling papers and putting them away, not even looking at Erik. “He’s in custody awaiting trial-”

“Which could take months.” Erik countered, folding his arms. “I just want to ask him about a few things, that’s all.”

“What kind of things?”

“I just think there’s something more to the Trask case…”

“Damn it.” Hendry muttered, slamming his desk drawer shut and running a hand over his face. “What is it with you guys? Detective Howlett came in here not two hours ago asking the same thing.”

Erik’s chin jerked up sharply. “Logan was here?”

Hendry sighed. “Yeah but I figured he was only looking for a chance to beat the shit out of Creed some more. So I’m telling you the same thing I told him. No.”

“But-”

“I said _no_ Lehnsherr. Jesus, just go and focus on finding whoever killed the Stryker kid okay? Do your damn job.”

Erik bristled at that. It was alright for the likes of Hendry, who wiled away his work days in board meetings and swanning around the precinct, to tell Erik to _do his job._ Erik’s job was to catch bad guys, solve murders, and clear the streets of killers and psychos. It was his fucking _job_ to ask questions, something that seemed to be escaping his superior as of late. He straightened and met Hendry’s gaze.

“With all due respect, _Sir_ ,” he said, putting as much snot into his voice as possible “I really think there’s something Creed’s not telling us, I intend to find out what.”

“You intend-? Oh for _Christ’s_ ….Look Lehnsherr, I really don’t have time for this right now. I’ve got a meeting with the Mayor, papers to fill out and about a thousand others things biting my ass to get done around here. I’ve given you a case, and I can’t have my two best guys fucking around and talking to perps we _already_ have! You put Creed behind you, and do what I ask of you. Got it?”

…………………………….

Erik went to see Creed. 

It had taken him precisely thirty seconds to decide he was going to go regardless of what Hendry said, and just another 30 minutes to get to where Creed was being held and to weasel his way into visiting time. He slumped into the hard plastic chair on one side of the bulletproof glass window. Soon enough Creed slunk forward, menace practically oozing out of every pore. They sat opposite each other for a moment warily, Creed’s dark eyes glittering under bushy brows. 

“What do you want?” Creed grunted into his plastic phone. 

“Mr Creed, I have some questions.” Erik responded coolly, ignoring the way Creed rolled his eyes dismissively. 

“Yeah you and every other goddamn officer in New York. I ain’t got nuthin’ left to tell you-”

“I don’t believe that.”

A snort from Creed. “Hooray for you.”

Erik gave him a flat look through the glass; if the moron wanted to dance around sarcastic comebacks all afternoon then Erik was game, unless Hendry actually bothered to enquire after his whereabouts, he was in no rush. 

“Tell me about Trask.” He tried again.

“Why should I?” Creed retorted, looking like he just wanted to punch someone and be done with it. Perhaps he did, or perhaps that was his normal face. Either way, Erik was glad of the barrier between them. 

“You said you killed him because he wouldn’t sell. What did you mean?”

“I _said_ I ain’t talking. What part of that isn’t going through your head detective?”

There were times Erik would quite gladly shoot someone in the face out of frustration; it turned out talking to Victor Creed was one of those times. Something was niggling at him in the back of the head, some little problem he wasn’t quite grasping. There was something _off_ about all this. But, Erik knew the steps and knew that when Creed didn’t want to talk – surprisingly abrupt confessions aside - there was only one thing to do, and it was something Erik absolutely fucking _despised_ doing: Negotiation.

Casting a glance around to see if anyone could overhear, Erik hissed into the plastic phone. “I could make it worth your while.”

He half expected Creed to jump at the chance, but instead the thug looked closed-off, almost guarded, but nevertheless had a considering glint in his eye. “I’m already in jail, you heard Howlett, ain’t no way I’m getting out of here with what I’ve done. How exactly can you sweeten this for me Lehnsherr?”

“You’re right; I can’t get you out of here, not entirely….” Erik paused, thinking about Scott Summers. “But perhaps I can persuade them to grant a bit of leniency.”

Which was total bollocks. Erik had no intention of doing anything save letting Creed rot in a cell somewhere once he got his information. Still, he tried to school his features into something that looked vaguely conciliatory and honest, apologetic even. Creed studied him for what felt like hours before letting out a long, slow breath.

“Guarantee me I’ll get the chance for parole.”

“There’s always a chance Mr Creed,” Erik said soothingly, inwardly wincing at the idea of _comforting_ this monster. “I’ll see you get it. You have my word.”

_Lies. People like you don’t get chances. You blew that when you slaughtered that poor little girl all those years ago._

Creed, at least, seemed to fall for it, nodding slightly. Erik saw this as an opening to try again.

“What did you want with Trask?”

A small sneer played around Creed’s lips, giving Erik glimpses of yellowed teeth. “Just some drugs, he wanted them to sell in our markets, we needed the midget to sell his stock.”

Erik frowned, though, he noted distantly, he was a little surprised at how _unsurprised_ he was that Trask may have been involved in drug dealing. “ _Trask_ wanted to sell drugs on the black market?”

“Not Trask, my boss.” Creed snorted derisively, as though he couldn’t quite believe Erik asked such an obvious question.

“Who’s your boss?”

Creed _laughed_ of all things, an unhealthy, ragged sound. “And get my ass killed for telling you?! No fucking way detective. He ain’t the type of guy whose name you throw around. Piss him off and you’d just end up at the bottom of the river.”

Well now, that was intriguing. Erik gripped the phone hard enough to leave little crescent moon-like nail marks in the cheap plastic. If some mobster boss wanted Trask dead for just refusing to sell drugs, then a lot of people were in very real danger. “So your boss ordered a hit?”

“Just a precaution.” Creed answered lightly, as if snapping someone’s neck was an appropriate reaction. “Trask got edgy, said he was gonna tell the police. The boss….he couldn’t have that.”

Shit, Erik thought. Deep down he knew things like this happened all the time to unfortunate souls that had a crisis of conscience and sought to make things right. Certainly nothing new, but murder all the same. “Why did he threaten that?”

“The fuck should I know? Not a telepath.”

“Okay, okay….but, what was this? His third and final warning or something?”

There was a flash of teeth again. “The boss don’t give warnings.”

Erik nodded, gritting his teeth. He was familiar with having no warnings. So, apparently there was some new name in crime they hadn’t heard of yet who didn’t give warnings and ordered hits left right and centre out of hubris. This could be very bad, but telling Hendry would reveal the fact he blatantly ignored Hendry’s orders…He could tell Logan he supposed…

Creed was saying as an afterthought that Erik missed entirely in his musing. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, he’s been pissy as hell the last couple of weeks. One of his guys is going down and he just sorta lost it.” Creed sounded weirdly subdued, “Kinda scary.”

Erik had no clue who could scare _Victor Creed_ of all people and thought maybe this was worse than he’d originally thought. He cast his mind back to any gang members he may have met in the station but none stood out in his memory, none that would immediately scream ‘gangster’ at him. He and Logan never looked very hard at petty criminals traipsing in and out when they had serial killers and mysterious bleeding boys to deal with. Still, criminals going down….courts….

Inspiration hit Erik like lightning.

“Stryker.”

Apparently inspirational lightning had chosen not to hit Creed, and his brow wrinkled in confusion, “Huh?”

“Your boss’ man was going down you said. That needs courts and judges right? Stryker’s son was killed before Christmas.”

Creed blinked and shook his head slightly, looking irritated. “Don’t know nuthin’ about that-”

Erik bit back his irritation, forced himself to take a handful of calming breaths and count to five. Best not to let himself get carried away, but he’d definitely talk this over with Logan when he got a chance, and see what Charles thought of-

No. Wait. He was still mad at Charles.

“Still. This has been most useful. Thank you Mr Creed.” He said instead. Creed still looked a little nonplussed but nodded back.

“You’ll talk to the lawyers?”

“Of course I will.” Erik lied smoothly, turning to go before something stopped him, he wasn’t sure what was about to come out of his mouth until it came spilling out against his volition.

“Hey, Creed?”

Creed paused in his own movement, “What now?”

“Did you-“ Erik swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling like it was lined with lead. “In your…job. Did you ever meet someone named Schmidt?”

“What?”

“Schmidt. Lightish hair? He’d be at least in his forties now….might have a Russian friend?”

Creed looked at him thoughtfully for a few moments, long enough for Erik’s insides to squirm uncomfortably.

“Sorry, never heard of him.”

“You’re sure?” Erik hissed, the last shreds of hope making his voice thick. “Anyone named Schmidt? Think! Does _any_ of that ring a bell for you?”

A flash of something horribly close to pity passed over the criminal’s face, gone just as soon as Erik saw it. Seconds dragged past until Creed shook his head again.

“Can’t help you man. Never met anyone like that.”

With that, Creed put his phone down and stood, moving away until his hulking form blended into the orange of the other inmates. It took a long time for Erik to do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really should try and write longer chapters or this thing might actually be 75 chapters long by the time it ends.
> 
> I am trying to write this up quicker and have a bajillion scenes I would love to do but I'm a little pressed for time nowadays :( Please be patient with me, love you!


	8. In Which Something Goes Horribly Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is updated sooner, as promised! :D The bonus of having a few days off work.

Logan, predictably, was not pleased with these developments.

“Hendry said no to you too?”

“He did.” Erik replied calmly.

“But you went anyway.”

“I did.”

“But you _didn’t_ tell me.”

“ _You_ asked Hendry without me first!” Erik pointed out; Logan did not look the least bit abashed by the accusation.

“Yeah, and if he’d have let me I was gonna tell you and we’d go together.”

Leaning against the brick wall outside the station Erik rolled his eyes, it was becoming a habit. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call you, but I figured it would have just wasted time, I doubt he would have been so chatty with you wisecracking at him all the way through.”

Logan huffed with a conceding tilt of his head. “At least I coulda gotten one more punch in-”He paused, looking at Erik steadily, “You went against our superior’s wishes. If Hendry found out he’d drag your ass out to slaughter, putting yourself in needless danger and all that…”

Erik said nothing, feeling that Logan hadn’t completely finished griping yet, he let the silence linger as his partner sucked in another lungful of smoke from his cigar and blew it into the air with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Well,” Logan finally mused, “Good thing Hendry _won’t_ find out then isn’t it?”

Erik turned to him sharply, “He might-”

“Not from me he won’t.”

A slight smirk twisted around Logan’s mouth and Erik couldn’t help but feel his own facial muscles twist in sympathy, sometimes it was nice, to have a mutinous bastard for a partner.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Logan levelled him a look from beneath his bushy eyebrows, “Seriously.”

Erik nodded and schooled his face into a more neutral expression, turning his head back to watch people milling by. Hank wandered past, nose buried in some sort of dusty journal and didn’t react to them besides a mumbled ‘morning’.

“Do you think he was telling the truth? Creed I mean” Logan asked lowly once Hank was out of earshot. Erik had relayed the entire conversation to him, including Erik’s half assed attempt at a negotiation (he’d wholeheartedly agreed with the idea of leaving Creed to rot there), Erik frowned, unsure of the answer himself.

“Do you think he needs to lie? He’s going to be away for the foreseeable future…you know him best.”

“That I do.” Logan agreed, sounding unusually grim, “That’s why I’m worried he might be right.”

……………………………………………………….  
Erik was back to staring at his board. Fine, if Hendry was so bloody adamant he solve the Stryker case, then solve it he would. He heard snippets of other cases around him as other detectives went about their own cases, some missing kid named Wyngarde still hadn’t been found, a plumber had been killed by his unfaithful wife, so on and so forth. He thought back to the battered shoebox under his bed with no small amount of guilt. Since Jason Stryker had been killed he’d neglected his search for Schmidt, he hadn’t gained any useful information for that in nearly a year since he’d accidentally tracked down a young woman named Kirsty Schmidt in a bar (and hadn’t _that_ been embarrassing.) And now the box, containing various newspaper clippings and photographs along with his parents wedding rings, lay gathering dust in his bedroom.

It was worse than being sloppy. He’d gotten _lazy_. 

His face must have been as thunderous as his emotions, because instead of a usual interruption, he heard a tentative knock on the side of his cubicle. He didn’t even bother to turn around.

“Yes?” He snapped, not taking his eyes off the board.

“I, er…I can come back it’s okay-” Erik’s stomach dropped several inches, because Charles sounded so damn hesitant it physically hurt. He whirled round, and perhaps he could have at least tried to look less pissed off because Charles actually stumbled back a couple of paces, holding two cups close to him as if he half expected Erik to knock them out of his hands.

“Charles?” Erik said, inwardly cringing because of course it was Charles, why was he asking? Christ, Charles looked a little alarmed as Erik straightened from his slouch at the desk, which, considering Erik had all but pushed him into the wall when they last spoke, wasn’t very surprising. He tried to remind himself that he was still mad at Charles, a little. He was at the very least still mildly annoyed. Only mildly.

“Apology coffee.” Charles said, thrusting a cup under Erik’s nose so violently it was a wonder he didn’t scald himself. “For whatever I may have done,” he clarified when he saw Erik’s confusion, “Or…didn’t do?”

Okay, so the mild annoyance was dwindling very quickly. 

He took the cup, fearing it would get thrown at his face if he didn’t. Charles was watching him with a worried look in his eyes Erik felt duty-bound to clear. “Thanks, but you don’t need to apologise, I-”

He trailed off, stumped as to how to continue. What on Earth was a good argument here? _I’m pissed that you’re straight? You’re probably dating Moira and I don’t like it? It was easier to imagine you as a slutty idiot because apparently jealousy turns me into a teenager?_

“-Was a little stressed.”

To his growing confusion, Charles looked a little relieved. “Oh! Oh I understand, really, what with Hendry having a stick up his arse and all-”

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik cut in, feeling another little knot of guilt in his stomach. He took a deep breath, “I took it out on you, you didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry.”

Well, it wasn’t a _total_ lie, Charles had deserved it a bit whilst Erik was hurt and angry, but not at all when he didn’t know _why_ Erik was hurt and angry. It was completely Charles’ fault and yet it wasn’t really…..Erik was beginning to give himself a headache. 

“I…don’t have apology coffee for you.”

Charles gave him a questioning look for a moment before his expression cleared and he indicated his own cup. “No need, brought my own….apology accepted. I guess.”

It seemed the atmosphere in the cubicle had thawed somewhat, and Erik took a little grateful sip of the coffee Charles had made. Black with two sugars, just the way he liked it. Hm. 

“Incidentally,” Charles continued, as if he’d forgotten their argument already (he probably had, the pleasant bastard), “Logan was down in the lab yesterday.”

Erik frowned. “Oh?”

“Mm, though Jean was also down there yesterday so I hardly think it’s a coincidence, anyway, he told me that Hendry was had expressly forbidden him, and his partner, from visiting Mr Creed.”

Erik said nothing, not entirely certain what Charles was getting at. “Okay?..”

“Well, naturally neither of you would dream of going against direct instructions would you?”

There was something conspiring about Charles’ face that made Erik feel warm and worried all at once. He chewed on the inside of his lip, waiting for whatever the hell Charles was planning. A sick swoop of dread burned in his gut, was Charles going to report him and the coffee was just a distraction? 

“I saw Logan in the labs, but not you…well, I’m sure I just missed you. In fact, I’m pretty sure I saw you wandering around the formaldehyde beakers.”

“I-” Erik began to protest, about to say Charles was mistaken before his brain did a woefully tardy sprint to the finish line. “ _Oh._ ”

Charles’ mouth curved into a wicked grin around the rim of the coffee cup, but otherwise said nothing as Erik continued to gape. Charles was really going to cover for him if Hendry realized Erik had disobeyed? Why? 

“You sure you’re not a detective?” He asked lightly, by way of a thank you. The smaller man huffed a laugh.

“Far too much leg-work for me.”

Erik nodded in reply and they stood for a moment, both drinking their coffees until Charles pulled a face. “I think this milk was off.”

“Lovely.” Erik grimaced, turning back to his board as Charles set his cup down on the desk. “You’re not skiving off your work just to give me coffee are you?”

“Luckily I’m on a break.” Charles explained smoothly, ignoring Erik’s smirk at what was quite clearly a bald-faced lie. “I didn’t interrupt you did I?”

Erik shrugged, “I’m not exactly running off to catch bad guys at the moment.”

“Still stuck on the Stryker case? That poor boy was buried weeks ago.”

“Hm, I’m sure there’s something I’m not seeing.”

“Probably right in your face-” Charles muttered under his breath behind him, Erik turned. “Sorry?”

“Nothing. So, what do you have?”

Erik automatically rattled off the detail’s that he knew so far; that somehow Jason had been slashed across the chest, bled to death, and whoever was responsible was most likely still out there. “Then that whole thing with Trask happened, so-”

“Didn’t Stryker have a fight with Trask’s successor?” Charles piped up suddenly, cutting across Erik’s rambling. “That Shaw guy, ever heard of him?”

Erik shook his head, “Should I have done?”

Charles shrugged in return, “Probably not, he’s a relatively new face in Business.” Erik could hear the capital ‘B’. 

“He fought with Stryker?”

“Yeah, about…a year ago I think? Quite the public spat at any rate. Raven told me there were punches thrown and everything.”

Erik sat to attention, “Does anyone know what the argument was about?”

“No idea sorry…why? You think it means something?”

There were some times when Erik could just kiss Charles, unrequited feelings be damned. Hell, he might just do it anyway. Stryker fighting with someone and then his son turning up dead in his own home? Erik wasn’t proud of his job for nothing.

“Yeah,” he grinned, fishing out his phone to call Logan, “I think it means something.”

………………………………………………………..

“Those things will kill you.” Erik called, walking up to Logan by a hotdog stand Logan often frequented for lunch. The ‘thing’ in particular was a hotdog that was heaped with a frankly alarming amount of ketchup and onions. Logan ignored him and took an enthusiastic bite, dripping a horrendous stream of grease onto the pavement.

Chuckling at Erik’s horror, Logan rolled his shoulders, “This is real man-food Lehnsherr, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Don’t come crying to me when your heart explodes.” Erik shot back, no real malice in his tone. Logan took another bite.

“So what’s the urgency?” He asked, mouth full of half chewed bread and meat. 

“Charles told me Stryker was arguing with some guy named Shaw about a year ago, he’s some new name in business apparently-”

“Yeah I know, I read the gossip columns.” Logan grunted. Erik gave him a bewildered look that was once again ignored in favour of another bite of the hotdog. “What? It helps to keep up. This is old news Lehnsherr.”

“I’m just saying perhaps it’s worth a look. A judge and some business mogul get into a fight about something, and the judge’s son is murdered less than a year later? You can’t tell me that doesn’t look a _little_ suspicious Logan.”

Logan chewed thoughtfully, slow, greasy chews that had Erik’s arteries clang shut out of sheer fear. Finally, after a hefty swallow, Logan sighed. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“Really? Personally I love it.”

“Fuck you _Detective._ ” came the grudging reply. Erik raised his eyebrows expectantly. 

“So? Shall we check it out?”

“Yeah yeah.” Logan grumbled, munching on the last of his lunch, crushing the wrapper and throwing it in the bin. “Lets get on with it then-”

A shout rang out from a nearby alley, snapping both men to attention. Within seconds Erik tore off in the direction the voice came from, hand going to his gun just in case. Logan was just behind him. They bolted around a corner just in time to see the problem.

Two men were fighting in the alley, one struggling to push the other off. They were too far away for Erik to see their faces clearly but the one struggling was heavy set and tall, whilst the one currently delivering swift hard punches to his gut was lithe and slim. Wet gasps were coming from the larger man, too winded to actually call for help.

“NYPD! STEP AWAY!” Erik yelled, withdrawing his gun and pointing it at the slim man, Logan following suit. “Put your hands where I can see them!”

“FREEZE!” Logan called, jogging forward with his gun raised.

The slim man didn’t answer, but whirled around to face them.

“I said: _Step. Away._ Erik repeated, squinting to see the man’s face. The larger man began to hoist himself to his feet, doubling over in pain. The small man took a step backwards, one hand going behind his back.

“Oh no you don’t!” Logan roared, taking a few more steps forward. “Hands up buddy!”

The attacker made no response, but instead withdrew his hand. Erik’s eyes caught a metallic gleam.

“Wait, NO-!”

The large man took another punch to the stomach again, only this time it wasn’t just a punch. A hoarse cry tore itself from the man’s throat as he crumpled forward, hands desperately trying to stem the flow of blood from a stab wound. Pretty damn deep as far as Erik could see.

“Shit!” Erik swore, darting forward to the larger man as the attacker tore off down the alley. Shots rang out loud and sudden through the air, Logan, Erik noted distantly as he dropped to his knees besides the bleeding man.

“What the- he just _vaulted the fucking wall!_ ” Logan shouted, rage and disbelief making his voice shake. Erik barely heard him, turning the victim over and pressing his own hands over the giant red patch of the man’s shirt, fingers rapidly becoming slippery in the warmth.

“Logan just CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE!” He barked, stripping his jacket and pressing it firmly to the man’s wound. To the man he said “It’s okay, alright? You’re okay, just stay with me Sir…”, a litany of reassurance he delivered far more calmly than he felt. He didn’t look at the victim’s face, just kept concentrating on preventing further blood loss. Horrible wet breaths gusted past his ear, the man’s chest rising and falling at unsteady rates.

“Just stay _awake! _Please!” Erik continued, voice becoming a little shrill and desperate. Logan’s cursing and ranting into his phone became white noise in the back of his perception as the man gave one final, panicked heave of breath, coughed weakly, and finally fell still.__

“No! Fucking dammit!” Erik swore, pressing a bloodied finger to the man’s pulse…which was no longer there. 

“ _Fuck._ ” he breathed again, shutting his eyes tightly against the sting of tears threatening to appear. Shit. Fuck. God _dammit_. 

“He’s gone Logan.” He said dully, turning his head. _I’ve failed. Once again I couldn’t do a fucking thing to help._

“Shit, paramedics are on their way already….” Logan hissed, clapping a surprisingly firm hand on Erik’s shoulder. “You alright bub?” 

No, Erik was not alright. He nodded anyway. 

Standing up he took a few deep, slow breaths, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. Adrenaline began to seep out of his system, making his fingers quake ever so slightly. 

“Oh… _fuck me._ ” Logan breathed softly beside him. Erik looked at him to find his partner focused solely on the dead man on the ground, eyes wide. Erik followed his gaze and finally got a good look at the face of the man he failed to save. 

“Oh my God…” 

He was looking at the familiar, and very dead, face of Cain Marko. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon is that Erik 'Lean, Mean, Policing Machine' Lehnsherr is a total health nut.
> 
> Anyway, CLIFFHANGERS AHOY


	9. In Which Charles Has A Tale To Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! :D
> 
> PLEASE note the latest tag, Implied Childhood Abuse/Neglect, because I'm touching upon some comic canon here, AKA 'Charles' Shitty Childhood'.  
> Also, from now on we're going to have some of my most favourite thing in the world: Angst children. Sweet, sweet angst.

The precinct had never seemed so subdued. The news of Cain Marko’s death had spread like wildfire and everybody was talking about it, though it had gained an odd shade of secrecy by people pointedly _not_ talking about it. Over the last fifteen years practically everybody had arrested Marko on and off for things like petty theft and carjacking, he had the reputation for being an idiot with a a tendency towards aggression and a general pain in the ass, but he’d never done anything as brutal as murder. Cain had been a bully. He’d beat the shit out of you for sure, but he’d never gone so far as to actually kill anyone. It seemed almost…shocking. Murders were par of course in the station, it came with the job, but this was different, they had _known_ Marko.

Erik and Logan had been questioned of course, what were the odds of two known homicide detectives just chancing upon a back alley stabbing? Especially one Logan had gotten into a fistfight right in the foyer with when they first became partners? Erik recounted the events over and over until he could recite them in his sleep, recalling how Marko had stilled beneath his hands. Logan had ranted about the assailant vaulting the fence until everyone was sick of hearing it. They were left alone eventually, and the pair of them sat at Erik’s cubicle, staring at nothing.

“You think they’ll let us take this case?” Logan asked eventually. Erik ran a hand through his hair fretfully.

“Doubt it; we might get questioned a few more times though.” He sighed in response. When did this get all get so fucking complicated?

“Jean says Marko is in the morgue now, if you wanted to take a look anyway.”

Erik glanced over at Logan, who looked strangely listless as he chewed on an unlit cigar. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Look bub, I’m as shaken as you here, but who’s to say this isn’t connected?”

“Connected with _what?_ Logan, it’s New York. People die here every day; it’s not as if every damn back-alley stabbing is connected to something else! Besides….I got a pretty good look at him anyway.” 

Logan said nothing but continued to chew. Erik wondered if it was some sort of strange coping mechanism for his partner, the habit always seeming to get worse when a case got particularly hairy, even if he smoked like a chimney at the best of times.

It took nearly five minutes of silence peppered with wet chewing sounds that Erik lowered his hands and said “Why do you think it’s connected?”

“What was the knife used to kill the Stryker kid?”

“Ballistic reports said some sort of needle-point blade, why?”

Logan rolled his eyes and fixed Erik with a pointed stare, as if Erik were a child that required everything to be spelled out for him slowly and clearly. With multiple repetitions.

“Marko was stabbed.” Logan said simply.

“Brilliant.” Erik snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose so hard he saw sparks. “That’s your big fucking reveal?! I hate to burst your bubble Logan, but there are _thousands_ of knives in this fucking place!”

“Alright alright, easy,” Logan replied, spreading his hands, “It’s just…I don’t know.”

His partner looked away; Erik closed his eyes briefly as he sighed, “Sorry.”

“S’alright.” Logan replied in the tone that said it wasn’t, but he could pretend otherwise. “This the first time someone’s died on you?”

Erik felt his throat constrict a little. He closed his eyes briefly, the pale face of his mother glancing at him through the crack of a wardrobe, blood on wood….

“No.” He said dully, “No it’s not.”

Logan didn’t reply, and honestly Erik wasn’t sure whether he was grateful for the silence or not. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Erik looked back at his partner. “Lets go.”

“Huh? You sure?”

Erik wiped his hand over his eyes, standing up. There was probably nothing to gain by taking a second look at Marko’s body but he could indulge Logan, pretend to give the impression of closure or whatever. “Yeah I’m sure.”

…………………………………………………………………………………..

Marko lay on the steel gurney, white cloth pooling about his waist. The large ‘Y’ of stitching across his chest stood out angry and dark against greenish-purple bruising, so stark that one almost missed the small knife wound.

Erik found himself staring at the body as he trailed in behind Logan, barely noticing the sharp smell of antiseptic that normally hit him like a brick wall. Marko looked less like a human being but some strange, ugly doll that had been thrown on the ground and forgotten about. 

The doors swung shut behind them, the clang of the metal bashing together nearly drowning out Logan’s voice: “Kid?”

Erik looked away from Marko’s body and nearly jumped. He’d been too busy staring at the corpse that he hadn’t immediately noticed Charles stood in the far corner, leaning against the wall so casually that at first Erik thought he looked remarkably casual. Looking closer Erik saw that Charles…well, Charles looked _awful_. Paler than normal, dark circles sat under those normally bright eyes that only lack of sleep could make. Erik had seen Charles tired before with tough cases, but he’d ever before seen him look so haggard, or empty.

For his part; Charles gave them a brief glance with a half-hearted nod, then resumed staring blankly into the room as though he hadn’t really processed that they were there. Logan sent Erik a puzzled glance, to which Erik responded with a similarly bemused shake of the head. 

“Sorry chaps, just ignore me.” Charles piped up; voice unexpectedly hoarse, Erik didn’t like the downward slant of that mouth one bit, “I won’t be in the way.”

“Charles are you-?” Erik began, but was interrupted by the precise sound of heels on the floor.

Jean came through the doors, giving Charles a soft smile as she approached the table. Erik pretended not to notice Logan straightening his posture a few inches.

Jean set pulled on gloves and looked at Erik, gaze sympathetic. “You were there when the vic died?”

Erik swallowed, and then nodded, not wishing to repeat describing the event at the moment. Everybody and their fucking mothers knew by now anyway. “Uh-huh.”

“Well,” Jean said, indicating Marko’s body with an elegant wave of her hand, “There’s not a lot I can tell you, I’m sorry. Mr Marko was stabbed with a blade and died from organ damage, internal and external bleeding. Autopsy didn’t reveal anything else suspicious – aside from a blocked artery, a heart attack wouldn’t have surprised me- and forensics didn’t find a shred of evidence of the attacker-”

“We tried.” Charles interjected, a shade irritably. 

“I know.” Jean replied, giving Charles another reassuring smile that Charles returned briefly. She looked back to Erik and Logan, “I’m really sorry Detectives, but there’s nothing else I can give you.”

“It’s alright sweetheart you did your best.” Logan said quickly.

Erik stopped listening, instead watching Charles. It was unusual for Charles not to talk more during these sorts of things, since it seemed impossible for him not to share his opinions to all and sundry. He looked smaller somehow, hunching his shoulders like he’d rather not be seen at all. This wasn’t the Charles Erik knew.

Charles met his eyes, and Erik had the fleeting mental impression of a child that had gotten separated from his family, lost and a little frightened. Before Erik could speak, Charles stood and walked out. Both Jean and Logan looked up:

“What’s up with him?” Logan asked. Jean shook her head sadly.

“I’ll talk to him.” Erik grunted, pushing the doors open. He cast another look at Marko, who, unsurprisingly, hadn’t offered up any help at all. The slack face remained motionless, and Erik finally left.

The corridor seemed longer than he remembered. 

Charles stood at the end of the corridor, leaning heavily against the wall again. His shoulders were hunched over again, face buried in his hands; entire body shaking with great ragged breaths.

“Hey, hey…” Erik called, catching up to Charles and fighting the urge to just bundle Charles in his arms to shield him from whatever it was that had upset him. “Hey Charles…you alright?!”

“Nnh-” came the muffled reply. The smaller man withdrew his head from his hands and something large and thorny raged in Erik’s chest at the sight of Charles’ eyes large and shining, tears threatening to spill. 

“No Erik.” Charles whispered, “No I don’t think I’m alright at all.”

…………………………………………………………

“Cain Marko is my stepbrother.”

The café was a relatively quiet place for this time of day, all calming neutral tones and quaint wooden chairs. Erik had dragged Charles there instead of hovering in the corridor by the morgue and practically shoved him into a seat by the corner table, away from most other patrons. After nagging the barista for something ‘comforting’ Erik had plonked a cup of chamomile tea and waited for Charles to calm down enough to speak. Needless to say, out of all the things to come out of Charles’ mouth, that hadn’t been expected at all. 

Allowing himself a full five seconds to process this information, Erik leaned let out a long exhale. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Truth be told, he was still internally reeling over this revelation. There was no similarity between the two men whatsoever, not even in temperament. In Erik’s world, people like Marko and Charles were at completely opposite ends of the spectrum, hardly existing in the same universe. Still, he felt a bit at a loss, Charles was upset and Erik had no clue how to handle it.

A corner of Charles’ lips quirked up ruefully as he lifted his eyes from his tea to Erik. “Don’t be, we weren’t exactly on the best of terms….my God Erik, you were _with_ him, I feel like I should be comforting _you_.”

“No!” Erik said sharply. “Charles he was your family-”

“Hardly.” Charles snorted, dropping his eyes again. “We haven’t been family since he left home, to be honest, I’m not sure if we ever were.”

Frowning, Erik took a sip of his own tea. “What do you mean?”

Charles sighed and ran a hand distractedly through his hair. Erik once again struggled with the urge to chase the melancholic air away. When Charles looked at him again he looked so tired that Erik desperately wanted to give him a hug.

“You know about my dad yeah?” 

Erik nodded, he knew the basics of Brian Xavier’s death, some sort of explosion in a laboratory, leaving behind his socialite wife and young son. 

“Anyway,” Charles continued, waving a hand absentmindedly, “Mother married Dad’s business partner, Kurt Marko, about two years later – and what a happy marriage _that_ was – so Cain became my stepbrother.”

Erik thought back to the handful of times he’d met Marko, and tried to reconcile the man he knew with the image of a boy, and found he couldn’t. “How was – I mean, was he-?”

“Was he nicer back then?” Charles guessed, a knowing smirk playing about his face. “Not really. I mean, when he arrived, I was eight. I tried to make him feel welcome that night he first came to the house. His response was the punch me in the stomach when we were alone.”

Erik’s grip tightened on his mug involuntarily but Charles didn’t seem to notice. Keeping his voice very, very even, Erik very, very calmly said; “Dick.”

“Yes I suppose he is – was? I thought perhaps he was just acting out, scared, that he’d calm down eventually, you know?”

Erik studied Charles for a minute, all chestnut waves and pale skin. Never in all the time he’d known Charles had he imagined the man’s childhood any less than idyllic, growing up in the safety of a mansion and an ancestry that just screamed ‘old money’. He felt a brief surge of anger at the late Cain Marko, despite knowing that there wasn’t a whole lot to be done about an incident over two decades old. 

“Did he?”

Charles fidgeted, like he was suddenly unsure of himself. Blue eyes found Erik’s, only to jump away to the mug in his hands, then over to a spot just over Erik’s shoulder. “Well, um, considering his father – Kurt Marko – er, I mean my stepdad sorry, backhanded me across the face a week later for disrespect, not really.”

“ _What?!_ ” Erik spluttered incredulously, voice just loud enough o turn on or two heads nearby. “He hit you?”

“Only every now and again,” Charles replied almost indifferently, though years of interrogating suspects had trained Erik to look for treason in body language. Charles was not nearly as calm as he seemed, feigning indifference but avoiding looking directly at Erik. “I mean, it was my fault most of the-”

“Your fault? How in the fucking hell was that your fault?!” Erik was getting properly angry now. Charles could be irritating at times, but not once had Erik ever considered physical violence against him, not Charles. Nobody should hit Charles, certainly not a boy of eight who didn’t know any better. His knuckles turned white where he gripped the mug so hard. Charles held up his hands in a placating gesture, though if he had meant it to soothe Erik’s ire, it failed miserably. “You were _eight-_ ”

“A bratty eight year old,” Charles cut in with a breathless, self-deprecating little laugh that Erik did not find convincing in the least. “I probably did something to deserve it.”

Bullshit. No child deserved that.

“What about your mother?” Erik demanded, “Why didn’t she do anything?”

Charles bit his lip and winced a little at Erik’s sharp tone, and Erik had a nauseating mental impression of Charles flinching that day they argued after the Christmas party. Oh God, he had flinched when Erik moved suddenly…had Charles thought Erik would hit him?

Erik felt a little sick.

“My mother….”

Charles trailed off; staring at his mug like it could magically tell him what to say. There was a look of poignancy on his face, like someone grieving over half-forgotten things. 

“My mother never really bothered with me much after Dad died.”

Erik’s insides clenched. His own childhood had not been as comfortable as Charles, moving to a new country in a tiny house with poor parents. Losing both of them had filled Erik with a rage too hot to go out and a loss too great to really measure, but however his life had spiralled after that awful night, Erik had never ever shaken the knowledge that his parents, his mother, had _loved_ him. 

Charles must have seen the thought in his face, because he quickly shook his head vehemently. “No, no Erik it wasn’t like that. She sort of…faded, after my father passed. She found comfort in the bottle and in pretending everything was fine. I have no doubt my mother loved me, in her way, but I’m not sure she ever really knew what to do with me…”

_And then she treated you like an old vase to be ignored and stored away. Loving mother._

Charles continued, pointedly ignoring Erik’s death grip on his rapidly cooling coffee and his surely murderous expression. “Anyway, then Raven came along, Kurt eased off a lot after that.”

“But not Cain?”

Charles finally looked at him, eyes over-bright. 

“No,” he half whispered, “Not Cain.”

“I’m sorry Charles.”

He meant it. Erik had truly thought Charles had grown up as privileged and sheltered as he’d imagined. He’d find Kurt Marko, if the bastard was still alive, and kick seven shades of shit out of him. He’d erase all of it if he could, for Charles. 

A thought occurred to him. “You must have been very lonely.”

A small strangled sound escaped Charles, almost a sob as he nodded. The thorny thing in Erik’s chest practically roared at the sound. 

“I was….but as I said, Raven came along. I looked after her, kept her away from Cain.” Charles paused, swallowing heavily. “By the time I was fourteen I knew we’d never be friends. I tried, I tried _so_ hard Erik. Mother died and he moved away. I didn’t see Cain much after that, I never looked….and-and now he’s dead.”

Charles’ voice wobbled and broke at the word, a watery hiccough followed. Erik finally let go of the coffee mug and moved before his rational brain could stop him. He scooted his chair closer to Charles to wrap his arm around the smaller man, trying to give comfort that he wasn’t even sure he could provide. Charles leaned into him a little, and Erik’s breath stuttered in his throat.

“I can’t hate him.” Charles coughed, voice thick with tears. “I know he should, but I _can’t_. He’s dead; my stepbrother is dead and I….”

“None of this is your fault Charles.” Erik said firmly, “Marko was into some bad stuff, I’m not saying he deserved to get stabbed in some alleyway, but I’m also not saying he was a nice guy. You know that. If I’d known, I’d-I would have punched him for you before throwing his ass in jail.”

He meant it lightly, to push away some of the hurt, and it seemed to do the trick as Charles chuckled wetly. Bringing up a hand to wipe his eyes Charles angled his head to look up at Erik.

“I’m sorry; this is probably the last thing you wanted to deal with.”

“I don’t mind,” Erik replied, not daring to remove his arm from the smaller man’s shoulders lest he lose the warmth of Charles’ body pressed against his. He did, however, rub his hand briskly along Charles’ upper arm to ensure he had the man’s attention, expression turning serious as Charles looked up at him, blue eyes ringed with red.

“Charles,” Erik began seriously, unsure of what potentially embarrassing sentences were about to force themselves out of his mouth against his better judgement, “Charles, you know if you need…anything, you can come to me right? You-You know you don’t have to do anything alone right?”

Charles stared at him for a small eternity before giving a small nod. 

“Same to you. I mean, if you need anything, um, you can ask me? I’d be glad to help…You’re not alone either Erik.”

He looked so grave that Erik couldn’t help but nod back. 

They sat there, Charles encased in Erik’s grip with their sides against one another. They were so close; Erik could feel Charles’ breath hitting his chin. It felt nice, but incredibly terrifying at the same time. He allowed himself a glimpse at Charles’ lips, quicker than blinking, they were so red. Erik wondered if they tasted of chamomile tea.

“Erik…” Charles said simply, looking up at Erik like there was nowhere he’d rather be. Something wild and hot was screaming at Erik to move, do _something_ , like it could physically push Erik closer…

Someone dropped a mug a few tables away.

The loud crash startled both of them, Erik leaping back to his side of the table as if electrocuted. Charles cleared his throat and quickly downed the rest of his drink. Erik felt as if his face was ten thousand degrees and he certainly wasn’t deluded himself by pretending not to see the pink tinge to Charles’ cheeks.

 _Get over yourself, he’s been crying._ a voice sneered at him in the back of his mind.

“You-” Erik tried, before clearing his own throat and running his hand through his fringe, “You feel better?”

“Yeah, yes, Yes thank you Erik, this was awfully kind of you.” 

“It’s nothing. But you’re welcome.” 

Charles flashed him a quick smile from across the table. Erik felt himself return it, feeling a tad lost as they looked at each other, before Charles inhaled sharply and grabbed his jacket.

“I should, uh, get back to work. Hank’s probably waiting for me in the lab.” He explained as Erik nodded.

“Of course, I just left Logan in the morgue. Poor Jean’s probably going nuts without me to reel him in.”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

Erik bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying something completely idiotic such as _Have dinner with me_ or _I nearly kissed you, are you freaked out? I’m freaked out!_

“Thanks for this again Erik.” Charles said softly as they began to move towards the door. “I’m sorry for blubbering on you like that.”

“Don’t mention it.” Erik replied, hoping Charles didn’t notice his voice shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ASDF Movie voice* Hey! You two should kiss!
> 
> More plot coming, Raven will be making an appearance in future :)


End file.
